Promise Me
by A.H.P
Summary: My name is Autumn North. I am 15-years-old, and I was born mute. I have a mission; destroy the walking dead roaming through this world. I don't know how, I don't know when or if it will end, but I'll try. Even if it means killing every last one of these demons, if I have to discard a part of my humanity to do so. Fixed Chapter 1
1. Prologue

**Disclaimer**: I am not Robert Kirkman; I **DO NOT **own the Walking Dead in anyway whatsoever. [Slight Spoiler]- If I did own the Walking Dead, Beth would still be alive. All I have is my OC's and this plot of the story. Hope you enjoy.

The crunch of stray pebbles on the asphalt underneath my feet and the whispers of the slight breeze rustling the leaves were the only sounds echoing through the area; the never ending road, surrounded by towering trees. The sun was high in the sky, but the heat was that perfect, bearable temperature.

Some would believe this to be a peaceful setting, perfect for a calm walk, where you just relax and forget about the world around you, even for a moment. Bask in the glow of the sun and the silence.

Nowadays, it was only a dream to find peace, to relax, even for a moment; a dream once neglected by many before . . . All of this.

Each crunching sound of pebbles against asphalt made me cringe; I didn't want to alert anyone- or any_thing_- of my presence. These towering trees kept me on edge; they were perfect places to hide from unsuspecting victims to get attacked and eaten by those . . . Things.

I'm not sure what to call them; zombie sounds too comical for this horror.

Every time I think of them, I picture those blank milky white eyes, the rotting flesh sliding off their bones, accompanied by that vile smell that makes me gag . . . Their hands ripping through their victims bodies like paper; shoving their screaming, flailing, fresh kill into their mouths as if they were starving. Those growls and screeches that keep me from sleeping.

Despite this, I only felt pity for those things; they used to be people just like me, but they were caught and now, they're either inside those things stomachs or just . . . Different. Forever wandering, forever waiting for their first kill to come straight into their blood stained clutches.

_Will that be my fate? The only things that remains of me is either my walking, soulless corpse or flesh between their teeth?_ I know for a fact that I'm not going to be one of those things. I'll be sure of it.

The silence was the worst of all; it was peaceful yet cruel. It left you with your thoughts, but in this world, your thoughts were either dark or depressing. It was calming when you couldn't hear those monsters growl, but it was a reminder that you were alone.

Today, my thoughts were on my future, but most were just questions with no answers.

_Am I the only person left? Or are there others? When will my luck run out; when will I die? How will I die? Am I going to be those monsters next meal or turn into one of them?_ Heck, I'm already a wandering monster, all I need now is one of those poisonous bites and that's it for me.

**_"You still have another path."_**

Great, that voice was back. It always came back when I thought of death.

**_"All you need is one bullet, one bullet to end this torture; one bullet is the price to pay and you'll see your family_** **_again. You won't be alone anymore."_**

The image of my mother and father standing side by side, in a beautiful field, flashed in my mind. My broad fathers black hair I inherited was free of his own blood, his slightly tanned skin on his shoulder was devoid of the bite. He was smiling, his brown eyes holding warmth and happiness that I haven't seen in a long time.

My mother . . .

She was still beautiful, even if her right arm was missing, an aftermath of a fatal car accident with a drunk driver before this horror began. Her hair cascaded down her back in golden waves, and her forest green eyes, the same as mine, held the same emotion my father held.

I wanted to reach them, but there was an invisible force keeping them from my reach.

**_"The price to pay is one bullet."_**

The fantasy broke like glass when my foot caught something, causing me to fall; I managed to move my face from kissing the road at the nick of time.  
>A vice-like grip wrapped around my ankle, growing unimaginably tighter. I looked over, and I started to gag.<p>

All that was left of this sickly monster was one arm, a head, and it's torso; its guts hanging out from where its legs should've been. What should've been whimpers but was only a puff of air that escaped my mouth as I reached for my sheathed knife in my camouflage pants pockets.

With one arm, it dragged my foot closer to its face, trying to bite through my black leather boots. I felt the worn handle in my grasp, so I sat up, and slid the stained sheath off its smooth blade.

I didn't think about who this man used to be, if he was a good or bad person, where he worked, who his family was or if they were alive. I drove the knife straight into its skull. Black blood sprayed about, on my dark red shirt (not sure if my shirt was originally red or stained blood anymore), and a smell so putrid emerged; I turned away and puked up pieces of an apple I ate earlier, into the grass.

I wiped my mouth when I finished and just . . . Stared at what I did.

It's white eyes dimmed, unmoving, staring into space with its haunting eyes. My knife was embedded into its skull, the blade tainted by the blackness oozing from the wound.

Tears fell from my green eyes, and they wouldn't stop; the dam already broke. No sound left my mouth as I bawled like a toddler, crying for this monster, that was once a man, once a human, like all the other monsters I shot and stabbed. They deserved a life filled with happiness and hope and joy . . . Not this. Not living the rest of their days a shell of what they once were.

I cried for my father; Peter North, a big, strong, gentle giant. He was the level-headed one in the family; he calmed my mother, my brother, and I from our hysteria when the news reported the outbreak. He was the planner. He is now gone, my last memory of him was begging me to pull the trigger, he didn't want to be a monster and kill any of us, his family.

I, at least, granted him his last wish when no one else could, with a bullet in his brain.

I cried for the betrayal my older brother committed; waking up one morning in the cramped tent with my mother, finding half the food gone, most of our weapons gone, and a note. In his chicken scratch he called writing, he repeated the words sorry over and over like a mantra, saying its was his only way to survive. I don't know where he is now, but i pray he hasn't shared the same fate as a walking dead person, no one deserves this, not even his scum self.

I cried for my mother; Olivia North. Such a strong, resilient woman. She was the fiery one in the family; never backing down from a fight and never letting her disability bring her down from doing what needs to be done.  
>It was my fault she parished. I was so intent on killing the horde around us that day, I killed all but one. The one that took away my only comfort left, my rock that kept me from spiraling into madness the new world plagued me with. One deadly bite in the neck ended her.<p>

_"Promise me . . . "_

I can hear her voice echoing through my jumbled thoughts clear as day, as if she were right next to me.

_"Promise me . . . That you will live through this."_

I understood the reason I keep remembering this day; these were her last words, her voice holding so much emotion and strength, her last wish to me. She didn't wish for me to end her life, but to keep mine going.

_"There is hope for this world . . . And when it's all over, you'll help build our humanity, our hope back._ _You will not share my fate."_

This was why I stayed on the other side of that fence. Why I can't bite the bullet, I have to find a way to end this, and if it's to kill every single one of these demons plaguing the world, then so be it.

I remembered her last breath escape past her lips, her body turn cold, and her chest stop moving. When that happened, I immediately slid the knife through her temple, so she wouldn't come back.

I slowly stood up from my kneeling position, pulling the knife effortlessly back from the dead skull, and wiping its essence into the grass, before sheathing it back into its place. My tired body felt the weight of my backpack grow heavier; my photo album, the only remains of my family besides my sketchbook, the material objects that became my artificial rock and my reminder of my promise.

I pushed on. I saw the edge of the woods form into grassy plains. I saw stray wanderers miles away, they weren't going to be a problem. I kept going.

_"I love you so much, Autumn."_

My name is Autumn North. I am 15-years-old, and I was born a mute. I cannot speak, but words are not a disadvantage to what I must do.  
>I have a mission; to destroy the walking dead roaming throughout this world. I don't know how and I don't know when or if it will end, but I will try. Even if it means killing every last one of these demons, or even if it means I have to discard a part of my humanity, a part of myself, to defeat the monsters I will face. What I also know is where my first stop will be:<p>

Atlanta.

**_BOOM! This is sort of a beginning prologue/chapter 1 sort of thing. It's just a small idea I kept toying with, and today was the day I decide to start writing it. If you, the reader, want me to continue this story, I will. If there are any complications: I use too much description, any of the tv show characters are a bit OOC (out of character), my OC's (original character) are a bit Mary-Sue-ish . . . Please be respectful and let me know with constructive criticism; I have too much of a low self-esteem to handle lots of "You suck!" Or "Go die in a hole and never write again!" Or something. Once again, I hope it's a good start and I hope you like this story. Lots of love and lots of walkers._**

**_A.H.P_**


	2. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer**: I am not Robert Kirkman; I **DO NOT** own the Walking Dead in anyway whatsoever. All I have is my OC's and this plot of the story. Hope you enjoy.

**_AUTHOR'S NOTE: Obviously I'm not a science major (I am a writer) so if any science lovers reading this story think I'm stupid, I'm sorry :( I'm not smart._**

*2 Months Later*

Chapter 1- Hope and Angels

_"Just a few more miles."_

That phrase kept repeating through my exhausted mind like a mantra, a record player trapped in repeat; if it keeps going, I may start believing it soon enough.

Each step I took seemed more forceful than the last, as if I was dragging prison ball-and-chains on my ankles. My backpack seems to be gaining weight; my shoulders and back were the most sore with my legs and feet coming a VERY close second. My mouth was devoid of moisture and my stomach is trying to eat itself. I was tired, sore, hungry, and lonely.

_"Soon, I won't be tired, I won't be sore, I won't be hungry, I won't be lonely anymore. Atlanta is the closest safe haven."_

I could picture Atlanta now: a paradise city, cut off from the rest of the horror the world has turned into. There will be a supply of succulent food that could feed legions of armies (hopefully they have a supply of Reese's Pieces), endless water supply lasting for decades, enough protection, and people. Real people, not cannibalistic walking corpses with white eyes and only speak in a language filled with snarls and screeches, but alive people; ones that speak in the same tongue I understand, ones that don't try to kill me. They may be strangers, but they are just like me.

_"Maybe there are scientist there working on a cure for the world as well."_ Imagining a bunch of hard working scientists trying to find a cure for this virus seemed like an early birthday present.

I had been left to my thoughts through this long trek to the paradise city and through my depressed, on the border to suicidal, thoughts, I thought long and hard about the cause of the virus. I had a few theories that could possibly help with finding the cure that I would like to express to them to the science community.

Before this . . . Apocalyptic madness, I planned to study and work in the science/medical field, mainly to discover cures that could change the world. I studied extensively on medicine, sicknesses, virus's, you name it; I had an elaborate plan to finish college then apply to the CDC.

It was my blind hope, my deception of the CDC and Atlanta as the perfect safe haven was what kept these tired feet energized, what kept me taking one step further, what kept me repeating my mantra.

_"Just a few more miles."_

I kept glancing for the monsters, expecting one to be two feet in front of me; getting lost in endless thoughts was an unavoidable distraction that could cost your life if you weren't careful. The corpses weren't a problem. The plains were flat and endless, I could see everything. The closest corpses looked similar to specs out in the distance, and they were wandering into a direction I wasn't heading.

I indulged in my thoughts a little longer, my stomach growled and my mouth began to water a bit imaging the food I want to gorge myself in, especially the Reese's Pieces. I felt safe for a moment, out here, right now, imagining the military at Atlanta aa a wall of protection for the confused, lost, survivors. I couldn't wait to arrive.

_"I wish my family was with me."_

Like a snap of fingers, my thin, glassy illusion broke into millions of pieces, landing on the ground as the broken dream it is. The light, warm, fuzzy feeling in my chest grew heavier, cold, and brittle.

I could feel my heart breaking from the wave of shame and sadness, and my mind slowly spiralling out of control from the overwhelming guilt.

The weight of these negative emotions, maybe the exhaustion, maybe a bit of both, had my knees buckling, and fall on them. It was hard to process everything at once.

My mind was jumbled, a mess.

It felt so easy, I actually forgot about my own family, how they died, who they were before: everything, even for a moment. How is that possible; my parents deaths were scarring! Wait when did mother die . . . Two . . . Three . . . Four months ago? I can't remember. My brother's betrayal was unforgettable! My family was my everything before the world went to Hell! It was too easy to begin to stop thinking about them at all. Too easy.

Too frightening.

. . . This world is frightening.

I'm most likely overreacting, but forgetting about my dead parents like forgetting the date is pretty sickening for me.

I slid off my backpack and set it in front of me. Large and camouflage, this bag had been with me from the beginning of the end of the world. It holds all of my memories I could carry.

Zipping the bag open, I looked at everything inside. The metal of the empty .22 caliber revolver blinded me for a moment before I took it out and held it in my hands. Not only a weapon against the corpses, it was also the gun I used to put my father out of his misery and to rest my mother before she turned. I have no more bullets, so, for now, it is simply an item holding dark memories that I'd rather not dwell on.

I pushed aside my three cans of food to grab my last granola bar, which settled my stomach greatly, and sipped on my half-full bottle. Until I get to Atlanta, I have to save my rations. I skipped over my sketchbook and my Everything Sign Language book to grab what I wanted to see again: my photo album.

Setting it upon my lap, I open it. The first picture I see is me and my brother as babies. We had cake on our faces and my brother was looking at me; he seemed to be laughing at how funny I looked. I'll admit, I miss my brother, he's still family, but if I see his face, alive or dead, I'm punching his face a couple times.

I turn each page reminiscing in the sea of happy memories, but my favorite picture was on the 17th page. It was one of those family photos parents force their kids to do to once or twice a year.

The setting was at the beach; we took a vacation in Florida 2 summers ago; the picture was in the afternoon, my sheepish dad stood in between my mom, who sent fiery glares to my brother, who sent the same glares her way. I was smiling at the camera next to mom. I was a bit chunky then, a bit of baby fat in my cheeks, and rolls in my stomach that came from eating too many rolls.

They were arguing about the picture, he didn't want to be in it but mom said family pictures was something families did together. The photographer was irritated by the delay the two were cause so he snapped the picture and kicked us out of line. In my opinion, I looked a bit boring in the picture compared to the others, but I treasure the photo, not only for a good laugh at the good-ole days, but because I see this picture as of a loving family with the usual flaws.

That's how my family was before, but now they're gone. I quickly put my photo album away, feeling a bit better, and trudged on. Only a few steps was all it took, before I heard a light rumble. It wasn't my stomach, it wasn't a corpse, what was it?

I racked through my brain trying to remember where I heard it before as it kept growing louder . . . It was coming from behind me. I slowly turned around, quickly pulling my knife from my pocket, pulling its sheath from the blade, until I saw what it was.

A car.

No, a cop car.

It was blue and white, the word SHERIFF in large lettering, a picture of a large badge next to it: King County. I was frozen, my hand gripping the knife tighter in slight apprehension and . . . Relief.

The car slowed to stop next to me and turned off, killing the engine. The I heard the driver side's door open, and emerging from the car was a man.

_"Clean."_

The first word running through my mind about him was his cleanliness: his short, curly hair looked glossy and soft, his brown police uniform had no stains (even his badge gleamed from the sunlight), he was clean shaven, no sign of facial hair on his light skin, overall, he looked like some regular police officer, looking for drunk drivers and drug dealers on the streets. To me, he wasn't just a clean cop.

_"A person."_

"Miss . . ."

I looked into his concerned blue eyes. I felt my cheeks flush from embarrassment; not only from staring but because compared to his clean appearance, I looked like trash; my hair covered in dirt and sweat, clothes covered in black blood, my skin covered in dirt. I probably looked like one of those monsters, hell, I sure smell like one.

"Are you alright, miss? I can help you." He had a calm, southern voice that seemed to calm and excite me all at the same time.

_"No, he was more than that . . ."_

I saw his eyes shift from my green ones to my right hand, where I held the knife. He slowly walked over to me, as if I was some unstable person, slow but steady. I saw his hand on the butt of his gun. Was this man even real? Am I going crazy?

"Miss. Put the knife down; I can help you." The man was now a few feet in front of me. His clear, reassuring blue eyes was a calming sensation to me. I glanced at his name tag below his badge. "Grimes."

_"He was more than_ _a person . . ."_

I slowly relaxed each finger, dropping the knife on the asphalt.

**CLANG**

The sound the knife made to the road was like a gunshot. He didn't have time to react to my sudden speed. I collided into his chest, wrapping my arms around him, giving this man, this stranger, a tight hug.

_"He was something else . . ."_

I heard him gasp in surprise, but I didn't care. He was real. His chest against my cheek was warm and comforting, I could smell the detergent in his clothing. He was real, he was alive. This man probably doesn't realize how much of an impact he made on me; just because he was real.

I felt tears blur my vision and fall into his shirt when he, slowly, returned my embrace. It was an embrace a father gave to their daughters . . . The same hug my father once gave me, a hug I haven't felt in months; full of comfort and security I plan to take for as long as I can. He didn't seemed bothered by my tears staining his clean shirt, my smell, or how tight I held him. Yes, this officer was more than a man.

_"He's an angel."_

**_WAPATAH! It is done. The first chapter! I'm so excited, this is my first FanFiction on here! I hope everyone reading this loves it so far, I PROMISE the action will be in the next chapter. I hope you like this story so far. As always: Lots of love and lots of walkers._**

**_A.H.P_**


	3. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer**: I am not Robert Kirkman; I **DO NOT **own the Walking Dead in anyway whatsoever. All I have is my OC's and this plot of the story. Hope you enjoy.

**_AUTHOR'S NOTE: YAY! Autumn meets Rick! WHOO! And I have my first followers! I'm so happy right now. Ok, hope you like this next chapter :) PS- In italics AND underline, it's Autumn writing or her sign language. Her own thoughts are JUST italics._**

Chapter 2- Unbreakable

Sitting in a moving car is different.

It's similar to going back in time for me; none of the monsters were in sight, the world on the outside passing like a blur, the atmosphere was peaceful, and a companionable silence hung in the car. It was as if we were just . . . Driving, for no other reason but to clear out thoughts and the atmosphere. Literally.

I caught my companion "Grimes" rolling down the windows, letting my gross smell out. He gave me a sheepish look when I noticed him roll them down, his blue eyes holding a bit of guilt, but I just smiled, a way to reassure him. I was a bit embarrassed, smelling like one of those corpses, heck, I even gag at my own stench, but I knew my smile wasn't forced, it was genuine. I couldn't remember the last time I smiled, seen a live person, seen something good happen to me, or something good at all.

Walking to Atlanta, I always pass dead, rusting cars that are either right side up on its wheels, lying upside down, on their sides or in pieces like debris; a vehicle junkyard. Some had nobody or anything of use, but there have been some car that had . . . Some things inside. Let's just say I kept telling myself the baby was safe when I saw a baby car seat inside a rusty, bloody vehicle (missing a windshield and their passengers) but the huge amount of blood staining the cushions said otherwise. I was too frightened and alone to go into any stores, so I'm constantly walking.

I've seen horrible things on the road to Atlanta, some that've made me puke on the side of the road, other things that've made me cry like a lost child. All of the horrible things made me want to wake up in my bed, wake up from this nightmare, and see my family; my father at the table, reading the newspaper with his reading glasses hanging on the edge of his nose, my mother in the kitchen, making eggs, bacon, and coffee, yelling at my brother about not doing his homework last night like some drill sergeant, and my brother, who is trying to finish all of his homework last minute, telling mom his Call of Duty friends needed him.

But the world can never be the same, not after this. Even when we we find the cure, the world won't revert back to the way things were. My family will still be dead, my life will still be empty and cold. I will be alone.

_"I'm not alone anymore."_

Grimes, my new companion.

Throughout the few minutes we've been in the car together, he didn't speak, the only hint of his name was his name tag on his brown uniform shirt: Grimes.

I turned to glance at him. Grimes was still driving, his fingertips lightly tapping the steering wheel; a beat to a song only he could hear. He may be paying attention to the road, but those blue eyes were clouded by his thoughts. They must be negative thoughts because he looked so unsure of himself; doubtful, sad.

I knew what it was like; falling into that abyss of dark thoughts; your worst fears, your doubts, your painful memories, your negative feelings all transform into some demon that exploits that negativity constantly through your mind; you begin to forget those happy memories.

That's what changes you in this new world; yes, you began to feel that killing walking dead people is normal, that's another change, but this world is surrounded by death, hatred, and sadness that begins to weigh you down, grows heavier and heavier until it crushes you.

After that . . . You're either dead or a completely changed person, the person you once were would be gone, leaving a stranger in their place.

I don't know much about Grimes, but what I do know is that he is a very kind man; he basically saved me from, not only the long walk but, from any threats that could attack me. I could only take so much; I'm almost out of food, I only have knife as a weapon, and I was by myself. My odds of arriving to Atlanta was one in a million. I didn't like seeing this nice man so depressed. And hungry.

I pulled my backpack to my lap and began unzipping it. I saw Grimes shift his eyes in my direction as I reached into the bag. I grabbed my sketchbook and pen and a can of peaches; Grimes seemed to be the type of guy to like peaches.

I looked at him and reached over halfway to him with the can; it seemed similar to tentatively offering one of those farm animals at a petting zoo some food, a peace offering before you're able to touch them.

His curious blue eyes shifted from the food to my eyes before slowly grabbing it. "Thank you." Was Grimes reply before taking the can gently, as if it was fragile glass. I wasn't sure if my offering lightened my companion's mood, but he seemed a bit distracted from those dark thoughts for a moment.

Grimes placed the peaches near his feet as his eyes went back to the road. It was quiet for a few more seconds a silence on the borderline of awkward. I was worried he was back in his dark place again until he spoke.

"My name is Rick Grimes."

I felt a grin forming on my face when I heard his faint southern drawl; I got him to talk! I mentally gave myself a pat on the back . . . And a high five. I could feel his curious gaze on the side on my head, like burning blue lasers, as I grabbed by pen and began jotting down my response quickly in my sketchbook. A portable white board would've been better, but I lost it.

_"My name is Autumn North."_

I showed him what I wrote and Rick read my response. "That's a pretty name." Was his reply. He looked confused as well. Another Rick Grimes fact: he was an open book to me; I could read his expressions easily and quick enough to not make it seem as if I'm staring, I felt like some mind reader, and that's pretty cool. He wanted to know why I wrote my name and not speak.

I held up a finger and put the sketchbook in my lap again, writing my reason.

_"I was born mute."_

Rick had an astonished expression crossing his features when he finished reading my response to his unasked question. "You really can't speak?" He asked. I shook my head.

He looked a bit astonished, adjusting his hand on the steering wheel as he leaned back in his seat, but I understood. It wasn't everyday meeting a person who couldn't communicate as easy as others. Communicating with people was simpler if they understood sign language.

_"Do you know sign language?"_

He gave a breathy laugh and shook his head. "Sorry, but no. I bet sign language is easier for you isn't it?" I laughed, but, of course, it was silent as I nodded my head.

For the past ten minutes, we exchanged information about ourselves to each other; Rick Grimes used to live in King County, Georgia, where he worked as the Sheriff's Deputy (super cool!) with his best friend, Shane Walsh. As much as he remembers, Rick was shot a few months before the outbreak struck the world, placing him in a coma. He only woke up a few days ago! Rick Grimes was a man full of endurance.

He met a man named Morgan, and his son, Duane, the people that saved him and the people that explained everything about the outbreak. Rick, Morgan, and Duane went to King's County Police Station yesterday, taking all the weapons before leaving. Morgan suggested going to Atlanta to Rick, which, conveniently, was the direction he was going.

Ricks main goal was to find his wife, Lori, and their son, Carl. He believes they are at Atlanta with Lori's relatives and Shane. I hope Rick finds his family once we get to the safety of Atlanta. Looking deeper into the information Rick gave me, I could see that he was a faithful family man, who holds good morals and hope that I was familiar with. Rick Grimes was a kind role model that many should wish to be.

In return, I gave as much information; I'm 15, I used to live in Montgomery, Alabama with my mother, father, and brother. The apocalypse broke out, and my family tried packing the truck for Atlanta, after we tried going into the city in Montgomery, the closest safe haven to us, but the military wouldn't let us in. Too many people.

Then we tried Birmingham, but the city fell to the chaotic monsters; no survivors. My father suggested going to Atlanta for it being closer than Jackson, Mississippi, so we began heading there. I hinted that my family was gone and that my brother is missing; those wounds were too fresh to actually speak (or write) about, and I didn't want to break down crying again.

"I'm sorry for your loss."

It was a small statement, but I could see the truth behind his words, hear the genuine pain in the words when he spoke. Simple yet pure. Then the mood began to change; the sadness was etched in his once moderately positive expression on his smooth face and his knuckles began turning white around the steering wheel, Then he spoke.

"I always kept coming up with possibilities that my family is dead, that the last time I talked to Lori, it was a fight . . . Hell, I can't remember what it was about, but Lori mentioned how I didn't express myself, that I needed to speak. She even asked if I loved her and Carl. Right in front of him! A part of me believes they're still alive; I would hate myself for eternity if they're . . . gone. I wouldn't have a chance to tell Lori and Carl how much I love them."

Rick's remorseful rambling, the utter pain in each syllable he spoke had me tear up and my chest tighten, an emotional boa constrictor squeezing my heart. At least I knew where most of my family are. This man was truly alone, lost without his family. I can't imagine how he felt, waking up from a coma, surrounded by the dead, and coming home to see his family gone. That must've been terrifying. Disorienting.

I grasped Rick's free hand gently, giving a soft, friendly squeeze that ended his rambling. His glossy eyes stared into my green ones and I gave him a small smile. A moment later, he gave a soft squeeze to my hand in return, and kept holding it. As if I was his lifeline, his angel.

Our companionable silence returned and stayed that way for a while, until we heard a series of beeps. When he gently let go of my hand began pulling the car to a stop; the word "Shit" escaping Rick's lip. He turned to me and said three simple words;

"Out of gas."

I tried coming up with positive reasoning, trudging on the endless road again.

_"We're closer than before; its would've taken days to cover this much ground walking. __I have someone to keep me company. __There is a small farm up ahead, we can ask for hel-"_

"You alright?"

My mind-babble was interrupted by my companion. I looked up to his worried face; his brows furrowed slightly, his concerned eyes flitting around my face, as if looking for something. I nodded, containing my laughter looking at that, significantly stupid, cowboy hat on his head. He looked a bit relieved and a bit suspicious when I let out a small snicker.

"Oh, it's just that you've been very quiet-"

One simple raise of an eyebrow from me made him close his mouth. His cheeks began turning pink. He adjusted the strap of his large bag of weapon on his shoulder.

"Oh, yeah, I forgot."

We laughed at his forgetfulness, but then, a loud noise, similar to ripping a piece of cloth, ran through the air, and the next second, all the contents from my bag fell out of my bag.

We both looked down and I felt my expression contort into a stubborn pout; Rick laughed again at the slight misfortune as I threw my useless bag away from me. If it was the other way around, I would've been laughing too.

We both squatted to pick up my things; I had my empty revolver, my sign language book, and my two cans of food. Rick had my sketchbook and . . . Was looking through my photo album.

I felt the fear coiling in my gut, my blood rushing to my ears, and my temper was climbing to its boiling point; no one touches my photo album. Ever. I was so close to snatching it from Rick's grasp, my fingers were twitching, itching to grab the book when Rick muttered:

"She took them."

He looked up at me and my heart broke, my temper diminishing in a matter of seconds, my resolve crumbling. His face held an emotionless mask but his blue eyes were watery from his unshed tears. It was a sorrowful sight indeed; even if he has a stupid hat on.

"I knew they were alive when I saw all the pictures hanging on the walls, all the photo albums, gone." His strong voice cracked at the end. With one hand, he reached into his shirt pocket, and pulled out a piece of paper.

When he handed it to me, I realized it was a picture. Unfolding the photo, I saw a happy, smiling family, dressed in formal clothing; Rick's family.

Rick wasn't as pale in the photo, his skin held a fair, healthy skin tone. His blue eyes were filled with happiness, and his bright smile revealed his straight, white teeth. His left arm was wrapped around a woman's waist while his right hand was placed in his son's shoulder.

Lori was beautiful. Her shoulder-length dark hair was straight and perfect, her light skin unblemished, her hazel eyes and wide smile was radiant, enhancing all of her beautiful features. I realized Lori and I held the same height; the top of our head barely reached Rick's chin.

Carl looked so much like his father. The only traits he inherited from his mother was the dark hair and the light skin. Carl had the same blue happy eyes. The family all looked so . . . Complete together. This family seems completely different compared to mine; to me, everyone in Rick's family is on the same level, all in sync. My family all followed the best of their own drums, all different, but can work together as a unit when a situation arises. Rick's family was the image of a perfect family.

"Atlanta is my last resort; I can't live without them, Autumn." Rick explained. He handed back my photo album as I gave him his picture. I understood what my companion felt; this man was broken without his family. He and I, for this time, could sympathize with each other.

Rick offered putting my stuff in the gun bag and I accepted. I handed him my empty gun last to put in the bag, but he shook his head. I couldn't see what he was doing, his large hat blocking the view. I heard nothing but shuffling until I saw him putting bullets in my gun. He showed me a small box filled with .22 caliber bullets.

"This will be your box. If we find your you're own bag, they'll be in here." Was all he said before putting the box back. He zipped the bag and handed me my fully loaded gun back. "You seem to know how to shoot anyway, so I trust you won't shoot me."

Tears brimmed my eyes as I took my gun, my fully loaded gun, back. It was a sign of trust, giving me bullets. We don't know each other well enough; in hindsight, a smart option would've been hiding when I heard his car. For all he knew, I could kill him and take everything from him: his weapons, his cowboy hat, his chances of finding his family. But he trusts that I have his back, and I trust that he has mine.

_"Trust is the first step of an unbroken friendship."_

Before he had a chance to protest, I took his larger, calloused hand in my smaller one, and pulled him towards the small farm out in the distance.

He didn't pull his hand away.

The one-story farmhouse was old and white. As far as I could tell, not a living soul resides in those old, wooden walls. There was an eerie air around the haunting place. I didn't like it.

Rick stopped walking, pulling me gently alongside of him. He looked down at me and asked quietly; "Is it alright if you wait here? I'm not sure there if there is anyone- or anything- inside." I nodded my head in consent as he let go of my hand, setting his bags down next to my feet. Before he left, he put that hat on my head; I could see him hiding his smirk at my face, which, undoubtedly, had a playful scowl on it.

He strode up the driveway, up the brick steps, right in front of the door confidently and in an authoritative fashion. I glanced around of any corpses in the open area as I heard Rick asking for help.

"Hello? Police officer out here! Just need to borrow some gas." I felt my blood begin to pump through my veins as Rick began searching for signs of people through the windows. The wind began to flow harder through the air as my heart started pounding.

_"Why am I acting this way? This has never happened before; why now?" _

A sudden flash of Rick being eaten; the monsters fingers tearing through his skin and muscles, shoving Rick's body parts into his mouth . . . Rick screaming . . . Begging for his life to God, begging for his family . . . The glow of life leaving his eyes-

"Autumn."

My nightmare flashes stopped when Rick was standing front me. His expression was one of slight shock and panic. "They . . . Weren't there." Rick said, then looked at me as he picked up the bags. "Are you okay? You're shaking." I looked down at my hands holding my revolver; they were shaking like leaves, my knuckles as white as a sheet with my vice-like grip I had on my gun. I used my free hand to grab his personal bag for him and nodded my head.

Rick didn't believe me for a moment, but didn't ask anymore questions.

We checked around the farmhouse for new transportation; we found a car but the keys weren't inside. Rick refused to go inside and refused me to go inside either. The signs of slight panic stopped me from going inside.

All seemed fruitless until we saw a horse. It was a huge, light brown horse with a white stripe running down its long snout and chocolate eyes. Rick walked inside the barn, probably grabbing some rope or something, and I stared at our new ride. He stared back.

I always thought of horses as very prideful creatures; a trait that comes with having majestic grace every time they gallop, strength that makes them such a dominant animal.

I slowly reached over touch his snout, and, slowly and unsurely, he reached his head out. Making contact with soft hairs on the horses snout, I gently pet him in between his eyes. _"You'll be safe in Atlanta too; there'll be food, shelter, safety. Maybe you could be my companion. Rick will have his family, and I'll be alone again. That sounds nice."_

My heart fluttered with hope as I imagined Atlanta once again; I hope it's still there, and the CDC. I'll miss Rick, I know that for sure. He became my friend in a matter of under 30 minutes. He trust me as much as I trust him. But he will find his family and be preoccupied with them. And I have a job to finish: curing this world of the disease that has plagued upon us.

I felt eyes on the back of my head; nervously, I thought it was a corpse until I saw Rick. A long black rope was in his hands. He gave relieved sigh.

He said, "I wasn't sure how I was going to calm the horse down." Rick opened the fence gate, and petted the horse as well. "This feels normal; as if the world hadn't changed." Rick admitted as he looked into my eyes. He had a small smile on his face as he grabbed his hat from my head and placed it back over his. I gave him a small smile in return.

After saddling up the horse, Rick say in the front, holding reigns while I sat in the back; the gun bag strapped to my back, and Rick's personal bag in his lap. I held onto Rick's torso, afraid of falling over.

In a short time, Rick and I became close friends, a bond that seems Unbreakable; I guess fate will decide when we arrive at our destination.

Soon, we were back on the road to Atlanta.

**_Alright. I'm stopping right here. The action will be in the next chapter. I PROMISE YOU: CROSS MY HEART. Lol. I also apologize for not posting last night; for some reason, FanFiction wouldn't let me post ANY documents. Anyway, I hope you like this chapter, and I would like to thank my first 2 followers:_**

**_*BlackBloodAlchemist_**

**_*filmgrl13_**

**_You guys rock! _****_Have to go bed. Lots of love and lots of walkers._**

**_A.H.P_**


	4. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer**: I am not Robert Kirkman; I **DO NOT **own the Walking Dead in anyway whatsoever. All I have is my OC's and this plot of the story. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 3- Shattered

The rhythmic beat of the horse's trotting hooves against the asphalt was oddly calming yet it couldn't ebb away my excitement that we weren't that far from Atlanta. Rick and I passed a metallic green sign:

Atlanta, one mile.

Rick seemed to be eager to be in Atlanta too; with a snap of his makeshift reigns, Rick had the horse going a bit faster. Passing the sign, Rick speaks up.

"A part of me still wishes we had the car; it's faster- and you still smell like a Walker."

He turned his head to the side, giving me a mischievous grin; I returned a playful glare. I was intrigued by his interesting choice of words; Walker. I always called those things monsters and corpses. "I hope Lori's there, and Carl. I hope they have good food too. And showers. I have lots of hope for this place." Rick explained. "We're almost there, Autumn, are you excited?" I nodded my head, earning a smile from Rick as he faced the front again.

Suddenly, the horse stood on his hind legs, kicking its front legs at whatever is in the way. I didn't realize I fell off the horse until my head made contact with the asphalt, my back cushioned by the guns; it wasn't a soft landing.

My eyes went into a sort of tunnel-vision mode, everything seemed so far away. I was staring up at the sky and one cloud looked like four; were there three Suns? I felt the fear gripping my chest tightly. I felt claustrophobic, it was as if I was drowning in murky water.

_**Autumn . . .**_

Although distant and in some sort of echo, I knew that male voice; where have I heard that voice before? It was so confusing; everything became in and out of focus, my body felt paralyzed, my thoughts jumbled, was this how Rick . . . Ritchie . . . Ronnie . . . What was his name? Was this how he felt when woke up in that hospital, when he went home to find his family gone? Confused, frightened, lost?

_**Autumn . . .**_

I want my mom; where's mother? Is that father's voice? Wait where am I again? Oh, I'm outside. My brother is probably inside playing Call of Duty, as usual. The sky is so pretty today; we should go on a picnic today.

_**Autumn . . . **_

I see a face blocking my view of the sky. A woman loomed over me. Her blond hair was so pretty, her smile radiant. She was an angel; an angel that seemed so far away. No wait, she's coming closer. Closer to taking me away to the heavens where my family is waiting for me. Her face was perfect but her eyes were a scary, ugly white . . .

**BANG!**

The noise was close and loud, very loud. The angel's torso fell on top of me, blocking my vision, but I still heard the series of loud bangs, a deafening pitch that frightened me a bit. What is it?

I slowly regained my boggled thoughts as the large weight of the body was pushed off of me; there's only one sun now. And one familiar face. Rick.

"Are you okay?! Autumn!"

I stared into Rick's face. His usual calm blue eyes were wide, an ocean hurricane, frantically looking at my body; looking for bites and scratches. His eyes were glassy as if he was going to cry, but this wasn't sadness. This was worry.

His search seemed to be over; his tightened muscles relaxed, his blue eyed storm calming tremendously as he stared into my green ones. He helped me back on my shaking feet, but never let go of my arms.

"Autumn, are you okay?"

Despite being alive, I was not okay. Physically and mentally. My back hurt and it felt as if someone took a sledgehammer to the back of my head. I could feel blood trickle down the back of my head. I stared at the ugly thing that I once thought was a beautiful angel. That perfect blond hair I believed I saw was marred with blood and grease. Her lips looked as if a corpse but her lips off and her neck was decorated with a huge, chunk of flesh ripped away. Black blood leaked out of the bullet hole in her temple. Five other bodies were strewn around the road.

_I am so weak._

If Rick wasn't there to save me . . . I wouldn't be standing here. I would be just like this thing. A near death experience makes you think, all the thoughts are bad. I feel so useless, so little compared to this huge obstacle called the apocalypse?

_You were given a job._

Yes, I was. But what can I do? Can this thing be cured? What will I do if the apocalypse cannot be cured, just kill all the monsters? How long will I last? It was all so confusing, these series of negative questions going against what I hope for.

I felt Rick's warm embrace wrap around me, a security blanket I needed right now. "It's okay, I'm right here for you. I'll keep you safe." I willed the tears away threatening to spill by Rick's kindness and for my selfishness.

Rick would be with his family by now, in the safety of Atlanta, but I'm just dragging him down. I'm so weak and useless. There were times like these where I wish I could speak, say what I feel without the need of a pen and paper. Tell Rick to go so I don't hinder him from his mission to find his family. He should've left me at the road. What if were attacked again, and I let my fear to overwhelm me. I pushed away the image of Rick being eaten by the corpses.

I slowly let go of my rock, my friend, and looked into his face, and nodded my head yes. I wasn't very convincing I guess. Rick didn't let go of me, he pulled me back to his chest.

"I don't believe you." He said. "You're scared; your shaking really bad. It's okay to be scared. Just because you're scared doesn't mean you're weak. And besides," I looked up into his relaxed, smiling face. "You wouldn't be here if you weren't strong."

A part of me believes Rick Grimes could read me just as well as I could read him, it was odd and nice. Rick was such a good friend, a good friend. He is my idol. I felt myself beginning to smile, causing Rick's grin to grow bigger as he now let go of my arm, opening the gun bag to refill his revolver.

Before he could think of carrying the gun bag, I took the strap and put it over my shoulder, giving Rick a big smile.

I was surprised yet comforted when Rick took my hand, giving it a small squeeze as we walked towards the horse. Rick was my knight in shining armor; I owe this man my life, and a part of me hopes we will still be friends when we reach Atlanta, when there is a cure, when the apocalypse is over.

Atlanta was a huge city. I was momentarily amazed by the towering skyscrapers and the city's strong structure. Atlanta was huge indeed. Huge and quiet.

I decide to hold onto Rick this time, not wanting to fall over again, as we were now on the road leading to the city. It was eerie that the road leading to Atlanta was empty, but the road leading away from Atlanta was filled with rusting cars.

The silence sent the familiar chills down my spine, the hairs on the back of my neck tingling and it was not a comfort. I had a bad feeling about this place now. I felt Rick beginning to tense up as we moved closer to the city.

"Pull your gun out."

Rick's voice was hard and quiet, a command that held authority that didn't ebb away my nervousness. I did what he said, pulling out my gun.

To be honest, I didn't like guns. They were so small yet so loud, screaming for attention with each bullet, and, to be honest, I wasn't a good shot.

At all.

The only time I remember being good at shooting was when I was protecting mom; an odd experience all in its own. It was a moment where my fears, emotions, thoughts, were turned off. It seemed so easy, so simple to turn my human emotions off, so natural in that moment, I can't remember how I was able to accomplish that feat; a feat that turned me into some killing puppet, a different kind of monster. Shooting without thinking, without feeling. As if I never had any emotions In the first place. It was frightening.

My thoughts washed away when I realized we were in the city. It was a huge mess. Cars were strewn about the place; broken, and empty. Paper from magazines, newspapers, comic books was debris decorating the ground, and many plant life grew through every open crack seen. This was not how I imagined Atlanta. Atlanta is supposed to be bustling with kind, welcoming people, a strong military, and the scientists of the CDC, not strewn with dead monsters, dank, revolting, or empty.

"Hey, Autumn."

I looked at Rick, his small smile gave me a sense of security and a bit of relief. "The military might've, I don't know, cleared out a section of the city, or a large building. Probably a Walmart or a hospital. Don't worry about it."

His voice was so sure and confident; I wasn't sure if he was trying to reassure himself or me but I didn't press on the subject. I didn't want any more of my hope, or his, to diminish. Rick wasn't giving up, neither was I.

A few more seconds ran by silently, the gun bag weight against my back, the gun in my hand weigh heavier, until there were a few groans echo through the silent streets. Looking behind me, I saw a few of these corpses stumbling towards us, as if they were trying to run, but something was stopping them from doing so.

The horse, who I secretly named Cornelius, was beginning to feel antsy, and that horrible sinking feeling churning in my stomach grew worse. "It's just a few, nothing we can't handle." Rick said and Cornelius trotted on. I pet the side of Cornelius's body for a few seconds, hoping it would be a slight comfort for the steed.

I couldn't see the undead anymore, but I was mesmerized by the huge army tank in the middle of the streets; I only saw tanks in movies. I also saw a man, clad in camouflage, lying on his stomach on the top of the tank. If he was alive, I would've considered him handsome. A crow harshly picking at the dead man's open wounds. It was a curious sight, awakening the science side deep inside me; are animals infected by the virus? If the animals are bit, do they turn? Does the virus, along with the host, die when the host's brain is damaged? So many questions, so little answers. When I get to the CDC, I hope they know the answers.

My thoughts went away from the crow, my questions, and curiosity as I heard a distant sound. In the sky. Sounded like a plane . . . "Autumn. Look."

I looked back to Rick, who was now staring at the sky. His blue eyes were a bit brighter, a spark of hope igniting and enhancing the bright blue color, as he pointed at a skyscraper. On its reflection was something big and something moving. The reflection of a helicopter. A moving helicopter.

Rick's body tensed under my arms as he slapped the reigns, following the helicopter. The world began passing around in a blur as Cornelius gained speed, my grip tightened on Rick's police shirt, fearing of falling off again, with both hands, my right hand holding the gun tightly.

It was a relief I gave a tighter grip.

Once again, the strong, brown horse reared back on its hind legs, giving a loud whinny when Rick turned a corner; legions of undead ghouls filled the street; there was so many. Their attention turned to us, fresh meat they haven't seen in a long time right in front of them.

Their deafening growls and screeches and howls shook me to the core. The churning in my stomach was like a hurricane and butterflies all rolled into one. The sight of all these monsters decomposing faces, their lifeless eyes made me frightened, hopeless, and . . . Filled with white, hot rage. Every horrible memory that these monsters caused rushed back, my parents death, ripping my old familiar life right under my feet, putting me in this new, horror-filled one. All these negative thoughts and bad memories fueling my emotions.

There was no time to revel in my negative emotions as Rick had the horse galloping down a seemingly empty street. My attention was on the ghouls, crawling and appearing from everywhere. They surrounded us, overwhelmed us. I felt Rick's erratic heart beat against my hand, pounding just as fast as mine. I felt the blood rushing through my body, my skin covered in goosebumps as the pure fear washed over me. The fear was constricting me, I could hardly breathe. This can't be the end.

I didn't register Rick and I falling from the horse again until I felt Rick's weight fall on top of me, his back to my chest, the guns in the gun bag digging into my back painfully. His cowboy hat fell off his head and hit me in the face, giving me another reason to hate the hat as it fell on the ground. Rick paid no heed to the hat, getting up so quickly, pulling me up and securing me under his arm. I felt the strap of the large gun bag break but before I could grab it, Rick pulled me away. A second later, I was out of Rick's grasp.

I don't know how Rick and I were separated, so many things were happening at once. My heart ricochet against my chest wildly, threatening to burst from the pressure. I felt the sweat beginning to form. My whole body quaked, I wasn't sure if or when my knees would buckle under me.

Looking down at my gun, my hands shook horribly and violently. Through the deafening snarls and growls, my loud heart beats, I heard disgusting ripping and tearing sounds . . . And a horse whinnying loudly.

Turning to the steed, I almost threw up at the sight. Those ghouls ripped through the valiant horse greedily, ripping the meat off of his bones and shoving more and more of his meat into their mouths than they could chew. The unforgettable sounds escaping Cornelius was something I've never heard before, they sounded like inhuman screeches. The horse kicked his hooves violently but it was no use.

"AUTUMN!"

I turn to Rick's voice only to see two corpses stumbling towards me, yet my interest wasn't on them. Beyond the corpses heading towards me ready to shove their hands and mouths deep into my flesh, I saw Rick on his back, struggling with the monster on top of him, a battle of strengths and Rick was losing. I saw three more stumble towards him.

It took one instant, one second to see the fear, the anguish, and pain rolled into one dark storm on Rick's face. Rick Grimes is my friend, my protector, my rock in this apocalypse, and I'm not planning to lose him. I owe this man my life. My fear was gone, my heart beat began to regulate, an odd, but relaxing dull ringing sound overpowered the growls and wails in my ears. All these things rushing through my body all at once, yet I felt nothing all at once. No pain, no fear.

In one second, my hand, steady and with no evidence of the tremors created by my fear shown, I shot the closest walker in between its eyes. The corpse crumpled where it once stood, but I ignored it, the trash it really is lying at my feet, shooting the next one dead once more.

With sure steps I strode over, shooting the next undead, the one fighting Rick, once ready to bite into his arm, now a dead weight on my friend. With my foot, I kicked the corpse off of my dazed friend.

I shot the last three bullets from my .22 caliber revolver, three perfect shots into the monsters brains trying to touch my friend before Rick pulled me into the ground. I simply moved alongside Rick, in a mix of an autopilot, trance like state under the tank. But those things kept following.

Rick pulled out his gun as I kicked the one trying to grab my leg, which only earned a hiss in response. Soon, the corpses were on the other side, blocking us. He took five shots out of six. My emotionless state washed away, leaving a migraine rushing through my head as I looked at Rick.

His blue eyes stared back into mine and the sadness and emptiness I saw reflecting from them shattered the rest of my hope for Atlanta. I was going to die, there was no security, no safety, no hope for this place.

"_**There is hope for this world . . ." **_

My mother's voice echoes through my mind, a permanent angel haunting me for eternity, constantly reminding me of my promise. Replenishing my hope once again. A blessing yet a curse.

"_**And when it's all over, you'll help build our humanity, our hope back."**_

_I can't give up, not yet, not now._

Then, the world seemed to slow down around me as I saw Rick slowly turn to me. The usual light spark in his eyes was dim, the blue iris's slightly darker and dull. Then his attention was turned to his gun. It was a horrific realization when Rick began pulling the gun to his temple, very hesitantly, fighting an inner battle inside of himself. "I'm sorry," were two words that left his lips, sounding like a whisper of an echo, yet he was right next to me.

No, this was not supposed to happen. Tears welled up in my eyes, the fear of losing Rick, of dying. The anger of Rick choosing suicide than to fight. The sudden realization hit me. I stared into Rick's emotionless face, the gun pressed to his temple. In a short amount of time being with this man, the angel that saved me, protected me, the strong one that gave me hope when I need it most, needed me as much as I needed him. I needed to convince him there was hope. Then be angry with him later.

I thought fast. I wasn't going to let Rick give up; I wasn't about to give up. Atlanta may have fell, but not the CDC, not that I know of, and Rick's family might still be alive. We haven't found them dead. Rick never let me give up, I won't let him give up.

My answer was above, a hole leading to the inside of the tank. Without hesitation, I practically pushed Rick into the hole, his suicidal state I was familiarized with yet ignored, disappeared along with his emotionless expression, as I crawled in after him. I closed the hole in as Rick closed the trap door above us.

It was silent between us as he sat against the wall of the roomy tank, next to a dead body in camouflage. I sat across from him, my legs pulled to my chest as every emotion, experience, thought I couldn't process before sink in. Everything inside rushed to my head at once; Arriving to Atlanta, the city that wasn't the safe haven it once was. All of the fear, the anger, the sadness turned into one deadly tsunami of negativity within me. Looking at my hand, the steady hand that, once, could take down walkers with precision and accuracy, was now shaking like a leaf.

Rick almost killing himself. Almost leaving me alone.

**BANG!**

A loud gunshot echoed extremely loudly through the tank, ear splitting and painful. I immediately covered my ears, I stared at Rick, fearing that he had ended himself. I saw his gun, his main weapon, out. The dead body next to him had a bullet hole to its brain. He was still alive . . . Shaken up but still alive.

Before I knew what I was doing, I crawled over to Rick, wrapping my arms around him, put my head into his shoulder and cried. In an instant, he returned the embrace, repeating the words, "I'm sorry." Into my ear, but for a different reason. I felt his hand rubbing my back as my body wracked with silent and violent sobs, my tears staining his brown police shirt.

I almost lost the first person important to me since my mother. Yes, Rick and I only met today, but this world has changed; to survive you need numbers and trust. I believe Rick and I established a close trusting bond in the long hours being next to each other, I was not about to start giving it up.

I pulled back from Rick, feeling my cheeks grow warm, embarrassed from my multiple emotional outbursts. He must've seen my face turn red because he started laughing. It soon turned serious.

"Thank you for saving me from the walkers . . . From myself. I shouldn't have ever even tried considering . . . You know. You shouldn't have seen that either. At all." Rick explained. I gave him a smile, hoping it shows I forgive him.

"Oh right, you can't talk." Rick busted out laughing again, and a wave of relief washed over me. I haven't lost my friend.

_Yet._

"I saw the gun bag," Rick said, his expression irritated; I hope it wasn't for me. "It's near the tank, but there's too many walkers around to grab it." I was irritated now, about my old bag falling apart. I would still have my things.

My photo album.

It felt as if I was going to have a panic attack. I care about the guns, but I care more about my photos. My old, happy memories all bound into one book. My mother, father, brother, my old school, my old home; I need it back. A walker better not step on it, or I'll shoot them in their face.

I watched Rick check the man, finding a fully loaded hand gun and a grenade. Seeing the grenade had me excited, the many things we could do with it.

Rick noticed my excitement and shook his head. "We gotta save this," holding the grenade up, "for when we need it." I pouted; Rick wasn't thinking of the cool possibilities.

The question now: What are we going to do?

I saw Rick rubbing his temples as he started thinking. I didn't have a clue. I guess we're stuck here, but for how long?

The crackling of a radio, startled me, causing me to hit my head on the roof of the tank, a migraine forming instantly. I playfully glared at Rick, poking my tongue out at him when I heard him snort; he's still trying not to laugh.

"Hey, you two."

I stared at the radio, surprised I heard a voice, a young man's voice. "Dumbasses." I begin glaring at the radio, hoping the man talking on the radio could see it. Yeah, Rick and I used our guns, but we didn't know there was anyone else here and it's not like we had a more efficient weapon. Ha, calling me a dumbass . . .

"The ones in the tank; you cozy in there? . . . Are you still alive in there?"

Rick began standing up, only to hit his head on the roof of the tank, earning a silent snicker from me; karma. It didn't stop Rick from grabbing the radio's receiver.

"Hello! Hello!" Rick responded. The young man responded with, "There you are. Did your daughter make it?" "Yes, she's in here, too." Rick hastily responded. I ignored the warm feeling blooming from my chest when Rick said I was his daughter. "Good. You had me wondering if you two were alive." Was all the young man said.

Rick cut to the chase. "Where are you, outside?! Can you see us right now?" The young man replied, "Yeah, I can see you. You're surrounded by walkers; that's the bad news." "There's good news?" Rick asked hopefully.

"No."

I sighed, sounding more like a huff as I lied my head against the wall of the tank. The migraine was still settling in the back of my head, and the cool wall made it bearable. How are we going to get out now?

"Listen, whoever you are, I don't mind telling you we're a little concerned in here." Rick's voice held an edge, laced with a tone of irritation as he talked to the sarcastic young man, who only replied with "Oh man, you should see it from over here. You'd be having a major freak out."

In any other situation, their bickering would be a bit funny, but, with a sound of undead corpses banging on the door leading out of this tank death trap, there was no time for the humor now.

"Got any advice?" Rick asked. "Yeah." The radio man said, causing me to sit up straighter and listen in. "I'd say make a run for it."

It was silent for a moment. I could see Rick really wanting to hit something. "That's it? 'Make a run for it?'" Rick repeated the man's advice, trying to show, or let the young man hear, how useless the advice seemed. "My way's not as dumb as it sounds." The man in the radio defended. "You've got eyes on the outside, and there's only one geek on the tank. The others climbed down to join the feeding frenzy where the horse fell down."

I was all sad again, thinking about Cornelius, he was such a great horse. I just don't want to share the noble steed's fate.

"With me so far?" The man asked. "So far." Was Rick's clipped reply. "The street on the other side of the tank is less crowded; if you move now, while they're distracted, you may stand a chance. Got ammo?"

The term 'Got Milk?' Ran through my mind as Rick asked about the chances of getting the duffel bag. The reply was to ignore it. Even with the both of us, it was not an option grabbing the bag. I reached into my pocket, finding the leather sheath.

Pulling the knife out of my pocket, placing the sheath in my pocket, I stared at the blade. Only 3 inches long, this blade had been with me from the beginning. Engraved in the side of the blade was a small dragon symbol. There was symbolism to the dragon, but I could never see it.

I stood up as Rick placed the receiver back, crawling over to the standing space I was in. He looked over at me, looking so doubtful and guilty. "Do you have a weapon?" I showed him my knife.

Rick gave a half-hearted smile, and reached up, sliding his hand down my hair. This was a serious yet soft moment that, for a second, it was as if I was with my father, that Rick was my father. Carl was a lucky boy to have a dad like Rick still alive. Not saying my father was bad; I saw so much of my father in Rick. It was as if my father never left, just reformed and turned into the man I know as Rick Grimes. The moment left a warm familiar feeling expand through my chest, it also hurt. My father was gone. Rick wasn't my dad, no matter if I'm beginning to wish he was.

"I need you to listen; I'm not sure if we'll make it, but I'm making sure you make it out of this alive. If I tell you to run, run. If I say hide, hide. If I tell you to leave me behind, do as I say. Okay?"

Rick's voice cracked at the end, and I was enveloped in Rick's arms. "If you see Lori or Carl, and I don't make it, tell them, please? Tell them I love them so much, okay?" I slowly nodded my head as I hugged him in return for a moment. I felt something placed in my pocket as Rick let go of me.

Rick opened the door as I saw Rick's family photo in my pocket.

**Author's Note: I'm SO SO SO sorry for not posting. Huge writers block with this chapter in certain scenes. I thought about making it longer, but I felt that this was a good place to stop. Hopefully, you like this chapter and if not, say so, but if you do like it, you could say you like it in the comments also. Just saying :)**

**Like to recognize my two new followers in the gang: **

***kyzhart**

***miaandB**

**Thanking every one for support. As always, lots of love and lots of walkers!**

**A.H.P**


	5. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I am not Robert Kirkman; I DO NOT own the Walking Dead in anyway whatsoever. All I have is my OC's and this plot of the story. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 4- New Faces

Rick helped me out of the tank as a lone corpse attempted to reach out to us with its one arm, the other arm long gone. Rick kicked the monster away, its choked growl the only sound of protest as it fell on its back. I took one last look at the bag as Rick climbed down the tank, a small, selfish part of me wanting to just go awol and make an attempt to grab it.

Leaving the bag and, more importantly to me, the photo album left an empty and sickly feeling in my stomach; the album was a lifeline to me, to my dwindling sanity, against this world of chaos. A reminder of what the world once was, what I used to have. I wasn't ready to part with it just yet, if at all, really.

"Let's go!"

Rick's voice, and hand gripping my hand tightly suddenly, broke me from my thoughts, from my apprehension in leaving the gun bag. I tripped over my feet on the tank as Rick pulled me down and almost fell on him, but he soon caught me; I felt the cool metal of the Baretta in his right hand as he made sure I was on my feet. Soon, we were off.

I kept my eyes on the back of Rick's brown shirt, trying to even my labored breathing, not just from the running but from the rising panic inside. Everything around me seemed to begin closing in, so claustrophobic. Sounds were either amplified or far away; each bullet Rick sent to a walker sounded like a ricocheting echo yet the walker's growls were so loud, as if they were next to me. I was losing my mind.

I felt Ricks grip squeeze mine and I looked into his eyes as he spared me a quick glance. I saw those blue orbs for one second yet they gave me warmth and reassurance I needed to ebb away the panic, the insanity trying to take over me.

"We're almost there!" Rick shouted, shooting any walkers coming too close to our personal bubble. With his gun out, Rick turned a corner to the mouth of an alley, his gun pointed at another corp- no, not a corpse, another human!

"Woah! Not dead!" The young Asian man shouted, and I recognized his voice instantly; the man on the radio, the man that saved us. I had no time to react to the new face as he led Rick and I through the alley, screaming "Come on, come on!"

He led us to a rusted, yellow ladder, taking no time scrambling up the ladder. I was pushed up next to the ladder, Rick coaxing me up the ladder as he shot nearby walkers. "What're you doing, come on!" The Asian shouted down at Rick, and I understood why; a huge legion of walking dead entered the alley on both sides. It was a frightening nightmare that leaves you running away or stay paralyzed from fear.

I saw the young man step up to a yellow balcony area that gave enough distance from the walkers below. I take a step up, and, clumsy me, I slip, almost falling onto Rick, but the young man grabbed my arm, pulling me up next to him as Rick climbed on the balcony with us.

Once firmly on my feet, then taking a deep breath, I gave the man a smile, hoping he understood I was thanking him, not for keeping me from falling to my death, but also for going out of his way, risking his life to save two strangers: whether he knows it or not, I am in debt to him. He gave a small awkward smile in return, which caused me to silently laugh in his expense.

I felt the adrenaline leaving my system and my heart beat slowing to its regular beat. All three of us just stood there to collect our bearings, letting every rushing event process in our brains and I decide to look down at all the monsters growling, reaching for us, for our flesh, for our blood. There was so many, and we were so high. Curse them for ruining my life, making me run, putting me in high places that I loathe so much.

A thought of Rick throwing the grenade he found down to the legion of the undead went through my head and caused me to silently laugh; a walker explosion would be a sight to see.

I felt Rick's presence next to me as he leaned over the railing, short pants escaping his lips. The the young man stood to Rick's left, I on his right.

I finally took a good look at Rick and I's savior. He was a bit shorter than Rick, but not by much; he was still almost a head taller than me. He had short black hair tucked into his red and yellow cap, dark brown (almost black as his hair) almond shaped eyes, and most likely in his early twenties. He wore a black shirt under his white, red and blue button up shirt, a pair of jeans, and converse. A backpack was on him as well. In the old world, he would've blended with the crowd, looking like another average (yet, admittedly, cute in an adorable geeky way) person and, from what I could tell, he preferred it that way.

The young man's brown eyes met my green ones; I was embarrassed I was caught staring and he seemed uncomfortable by my staring, but, for his and my sake, I looked away.

"Nice moves, Clint Eastwood," the young man spoke to Rick, finally catching their breaths, "You the new sheriff; come riding in to clean up the town?" "It wasn't my intention." Rick replied as he shook his head. The young man replied with a slight roll of his eyes and with "Yeah, whatever. Yeehaw. You're still a dumbass."

For only a short moment being with this guy, I already liked this guy's wittiness and sarcasm. A refresher from the cruel world around us.

After a second of silence between the three of us, Rick held out his hand. "I'm Rick, and this," Rick gently guided me to his side with his free hand, "is Autumn. Thanks." Shifting his dark eyes from Rick's face to mine, the young man took his hand. "Glenn, you're welcome."

I held out my hand to Glenn. His hand was different from Rick's; while Rick's was a slight bit hairier and carrying more callouses, Glenn's skin was smooth and I could feel most of his bones hiding under the skin. Before he knew what came to him, I pulled him towards me, and wrapped my arms around his lanky frame, earning a choked yelp from Glenn and a slight chuckle from Rick. Glenn was skinny; the fingertips of my right hand could reach my left wrist and I wouldn't squeeze him to death. I could also feel his ribs.

"My friend, Autumn, uh, she can't speak; she was born mute. This is how she says thank you." Rick explained for me to the Asian man, which I was thankful for. "Oh. Well . . . Uh, you're welcome." Was Glenn's response and I felt one of his hands pat my back in an awkward, yet comforting way until I released him. Looking up in his blushing face, I gave him a big, real smile; he returned a small, yet more truthful, smile in return.

Then his face contorted to confusion as his gaze turned to Rick's. "She's not your daughter?" Rick shook his head. "On the way to Atlanta, I found her on the side of the road. Autumn's just a really great friend." I smiled at Rick's kind words piercing my heart, yet they also twisted painfully; Rick was a great friend, yet a reminder of how much I missed my own father. Rick wasn't, and could never, be my father.

Glenn looked astonished by this information. "Man, I knew you two didn't look alike, so I assumed . . ." His sentence trailed off as he let out a sigh. "You were all alone out there?" He asked me. I felt my green eyes and nose feel the familiar, prickly signs of tears as I nodded my head. Instead of pity, I saw sympathy in Glenn's brown eyes. "I was like you once, until I met my group. In this world, a group is a necessity for surviving. You may survive by yourself for a while, but it's a higher probability you won't live. It's a good thing you ran into Cowboy Casanova over here." I nodded my head in understanding; at my disheveled, unprepared state I was in before I met Rick, I wouldn't have survived another night.

Ready to leave the cramped balcony space, Glenn walked to the next ladder, leading to the roof. Looking up, I tried to swallow the fear ready to regurgitate from my mouth at the immense height. A tiny, naive part of me wanted to stay at the balcony, but, with the Walker legion ready for one of us to fall into their blood-stained clutches, and with the rusty state the space was, I knew I had to go.

"The bright side," Glenn turned back to look at Rick and I, "it'll be the fall that kills us. I'm a glass-half-full kind of guy." I felt dread fill me at his not-so-encouraging words as he climbed the ladder. "Hey," I felt Rick's hand make contact with my back, feeling the warmth emerge through my bloodstained, ruined red shirt.

I looked up into Rick's face as he gave me a reassuring smile, his blue eyes lighter as they were filled with slight amusement at my distress. "Don't worry about the height, I'll be right behind you." I was touched that Rick cared about me, ready to calm me from my constant distress, ready to be my light through my dark path. I was also amazed at how well he could read me like a book.

I managed to move my feet to the ladder of death, and began to climb after our guide. As I began climbing the long ladder higher and higher, the more weight from my stress left my shoulders: the walkers cries below grew lower in volume, the slight breeze running over my body cooled my slight sunburnt skin, and knowing that Rick was behind me, the trek was bearable. It was almost calming, peaceful, despite the fact that one wrong move can lead to an inevitable death, which I have slipped on the steps a couple of times.

It was amazing I still loved this long: not able to scream for help if I was in danger, constantly tripping over every crack, pebble, branch, even on my own feet (and on air), I was destined to die here, I just don't know when.

"You still need to live through this; you promised mom. Finding a cure will also make the world easier to live through." I didn't realize I made it to the top of the ladder before I fell over the ledge, falling flat on my face into the dirty roof of the building. In front of everyone.

Embarrassing.

I scrambled to my feet, my whole body tingling with embarrassment as Glenn tried to look concerned (which I was thankful for but I still saw him biting back a snort). "You alright?" Glenn asked. I nodded my head, trying to smile, but it turns into a grimace. Rick was on the roof, and we were walking from roof to roof.

It was silent until we were walking over an alley, which was only filled with a few walkers, an amount the three of us could handle. The mouth of the alley was blocked by a big tour bus.

"Are you the one that barricaded the alley?" Rick asked from behind me. "Somebody did," Glenn replied as he hopped over a small ledge to another rooftop of a building. I stumbled over the ledge, but, I thankfully stay on my feet. "I guess when the city got overrun. Whoever did it was thinking; not many geeks get through."

It took me a second to realize Glenn called the walkers "Geeks."

We reached a trap door on the roof to the interior of the building. As Glenn opened the door, Rick asked, "Back at the tank, why'd you stick your neck out for us?" Glenn took off his large green backpack, dropping it through the dark hole leading into the building. "Call it naive, foolish hope that if I'm ever far up shit creek, that somebody might do the same for me." Glenn climbed inside as Rick held the trap door open. Glenn looked up at Rick. "Guess I'm an even bigger dumbass than you."

Rick and I followed Glenn inside the building. Running through the trashed room, through the door back outside, and running down flights of steps (and tripping over my own feet in the process), Glenn pulled out a walkie talkie from his bag.

"I'm back. Got two guests and four geeks in the alley." Glenn said into the talkie. We reached the alley, only to freeze at the sight of two walkers, and they heard us. They turned to us and Rick immediately pulled me behind him. One of them set their white eyes at me, and I couldn't look away from its dead eyes as it stumbled to me.

Suddenly, the door to our destination opened, clanging against the brick wall as 2 men, wrapped in makeshift black protection gear, emerged. One held a bat in their hands while the other held a thick broomstick. Like quick ninjas, they smashed the walkers to the ground, beating their skulls. Black blood, the same blood stains on my clothing sprayed out on the ground, like ink from a fountain pen.

"Let's go!" Glenn yelled, and the three of us sprinted around the armed men and dead walkers and into the safety of the building . . . Only for Rick to be pushed into a pile of large, stacked boxes by a blonde woman with anger written all over her face and in her eyes. Her silver gun pointed at Rick's face. "You son of a bitch, we ought to kill you!"

My resolve snapped, seeing this daft dimbo threatening to kill my friend. A burning fire, that could only be my inner, pure rage and malice, running through my veins, traveling from the top of my head to the tips of my toes, settling in my chest. The edges of my vision were red and the next second, my revolver was out: the hammer pulled back, making a deafening clicking sound, and the tip of the gun aimed at the woman's temple.

My finger was near the trigger, and I slowly walked in between Rick and the blonde, blocking Rick from her line of sight, her gun was now at my forehead. I saw the woman's blue eyes look into mine. I didn't back down from the glaring contest. In the old world, I would've been too introverted to even speak to an adult, and now I'm toe-to-toe, gun-to-gun with a woman a head taller than me. I saw a flicker of fear mold into her anger. Good, that was all I needed for my plan to work.

"Chill out, Andrea; back off." One of the armored men pulled off their helmets first, revealing the source of the voice that spoke; a slightly plump Hispanic with tanned skin, black, sweaty, curly hair, and obsidian eyes glaring at Andrea.

"Come on, both of you ease up." An African-american woman with short black hair with calming chocolate eyes, spoke in a soothing tone; it ebbed away a tiny bit of my rage, but not enough for me to put down my gun or stop glaring with my green eyes. "Ease up?" The blonde scoffed, but I saw her resolve begin cracking at the seams. "You're kidding me, right? We're dead because of these stupid assholes!" The Hispanic walked up next to Andrea and in a low tone, he said "Andrea, I said back the hell off."

"You're pointing you're gun at a kid's head, Andrea. Just chill." The other man clad in armor said as he pulled his helmet off, revealing a bald African-american man with dark eyes and a slight gap in between his teeth.

Andrea's once steady hand holding the gun trembled slightly, her lips begin to quiver as tears formed at the edge of her eyes. She put her gun down. I didn't put mine down yet. "We're dead- all of us- because of you." Without looking away from Andrea's gaze, I pulled the trigger, only earning the anticipated clack I knew I'd hear. I ran out of bullets a long time ago.

I put the gun down, opened the revolver's barrel and emptied out the shells, a smirk forming on my face. Their astonished faces were hilarious. "We're you going to shoot me?!" Andrea asked, enraged. I looked up at her and shook my head.

Rick put a hand on my shoulder squeezing it as his silent sign of gratitude, before looking at all these new faces. "I don't understand."

The Hispanic roughly grabbed Rick by the shoulder, pushing him to the front of the group as everyone followed suit, Glenn falling last. I followed pace next to Glenn, and shoulder-bumped him. He gave a smile in returned as we followed the group.

"The woman you went head-to-head with western style was Andrea; hard headed as you can tell, but she means well. Jacqui is the other woman you met. The angry Hispanic is Morales, and T-Dog is the other guy. Another member of our group, Merle, is on the roof doing God-knows-what." I nodded my head, trying to memorize who was who, and wondering who this Merle was, until the group stopped in the main room of the department store; a large troop of walkers barricaded the doors, scratching the thick outer glass, reaching for the fresh food on the other side.

"Every geek from miles around heard you poppin' off rounds." T-dog said as I stared at the horror literally at the doorstep.

In a grim tone, Andrea said to Rick, "You just rang the dinner bell."

Author's Note: Hey everyone! I apologize for not posting, but I hope this will begin to make up for my absence. Not only did I suffer from writer's block, but, I'll admit, I began to think no one likes the story at all and that it was a waste. But then I thought, "what about the people that actually follow it? Don't let them down!" So, not only as a thank you to everyone who favorited and/or followed my story, but for also showing support for a story I believed was turning into a failure. Thank you! :) To every one that reads the story, lots of love and lots of walkers.

A.H.P


	6. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I am not Robert Kirkman; I DO NOT own the Walking Dead in anyway whatsoever. All I have is my OC's and this plot of the story. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 5- Officer's Sidekick

I heard the outer glass cracking before I saw the Walker; in its hands was holding a huge chunk of rock as it began smashing the thick glass. How is that possible? Do Walkers actually learn anything? Are they able to learn to adapt to a situation? This was all so confusing: the walkers themselves. So stupid yet can be smart; it sent more questions without answers running through my mind. If the CDC is still running and we have a chance to go there, the scientists better have an idea of how a walker's mind works.

The group didn't seem to be asking questions themselves, the minute they saw the glass creak and crack, they all began shuffling away from the doors. "What the hell were you two doing out there anyway?" Andrea asked, looking to Rick for answers. It was a surprise when I saw no malice in her ocean eyes anymore when looking at Rick. I wasn't sure about myself, but it was good that Andrea had forgave Rick.

"At first, we thought Atlanta was safe. Until we arrived that is. Then, we tried flagging the helicopter." Rick replied. "Helicopter? Man, that's crap. Ain't no damn helicopter!" T-Dog replied; I realized he put on an odd, dark cap on his head. And I saw a glimpse of a tattoo, permanently inked in his dark skin, on his right bicep hidden under the sleeve of his white shirt. It reminded me of one of the things I had wanted before the apocalypse; I always wanted a tattoo of a blue and purple butterfly but I absolutely loathed needles.

It was sad at how many of the things I wanted to do before dead people roamed the Earth all went to the trash; I could never get a tattoo, I would never find my first boyfriend, never go to prom.

What was worse was all the things and people around me I never really appreciated until now; my father's constant cheesy jokes at the dinner table, my brothers tv volume turned up as high as it went as he played his video games keeping me up at night, my mother's constant picture-taking (it was amazing at how well she could take pictures with one hand), even the neighbors yelping chihuahua's insistent yapping at every sound it heard . . . Well, maybe not that.

"You were chasing a hallucination. Imagining things. It happens." Jacqui tried to reason with Rick, as if the stress of the apocalypse was making his sanity falter; I saw the familiar calmness in her brown eyes that a mother has when calming a scared child. The tone in her voice was soothing, but Rick had none of it. "I saw it." Was his reply. Although it was short, the way Rick said it had a certain determination and authority an insane man wouldn't have.

"And so did Autumn." Oh Great. I felt everyone's questioning gaze fall on me, putting an amount of pressure on my shoulders. I hate attention. Rick didn't have to look at me desperately like he did, as if my answer would prove his sanity; I nodded my head. I saw it too.

I guess it was the response Morales needed. He looked to T-Dog and said, "Try that C.B. Can you contact the others?"

Wait . . .

"Others?" Rick asked. I suddenly felt a sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. Others? I trusted Rick and Glenn fully. Jacqui was a close second, Morales and T-Dog were alright, but Andrea was still on the fence; I haven't even met this Merle character! What if these "others" were not good people? I turned to Rick, who also looked to me, I saw the hesitation in his blue orbs, which did not settle my growing worry.

"Got no signal, maybe the roof." T-Dog said as he tinkered with the portable radio's antenna, which only earned static.

BANG!

The gunshot had me jump, my heart beat accelerating a mile a minute. I looked around at everyone, wondering if they pulled a gun out, but none were out. Actually everyone was looking at the ceiling; the shot came from the roof. I saw Andrea sigh. "Oh no, is that Dixon?" She asked, exasperatedly. Every one else had expressions of fear and annoyance mixed into one. As they ran, leaving Rick and I alone for a few seconds. Looking at Rick, him looking at me, I gave him a questioning look, my eyes shifting from the ragtag group back to him.

Should we trust them?

Predicting my thoughts, Rick nodded his head. That was all I needed to trust this new group a little more. Then we were running to catch up to the group.

I was the farthest from the group, letting Rick in front of me to see what was going on, but I heard the door to the roof slam open, the sound it created when hitting the wall reverberated through the stair tower. I heard Morales voice amongst everyone's steps against the metal stairs, saying "Hey, Dixon, are you crazy?!" This Dixon (most likely Merle) only gave a deep scratchy chuckle as a response.

Finally reaching everyone else on the roof, I saw this Merle character. Merle seemed to be in his late 40's with greying brown hair on his head and flecks of grey in his scruffle. His eyes were a deep blue, but they were somehow bloodshot and his skin was sunburnt but it was 10 times worse than mine. He wore a sleeveless leather vest over a dirty, black tank top, revealing large biceps, dirty pants with holes, and worn boots. This man was the epitome of redneck. Especially with the hunting rifle in his scarred hands.

After shooting a couple more shots at walkers below, Merle looked back at the us once again, a huge, lopsided grin sewn on his face, revealing slightly yellowed teeth. "Hey, ya'll be more polite to a man with a gun!" He said, jumping down from the ledge of the building.

Rick pulled me closer to him, away from everyone else and from the redneck's line of sight. "Only common sense." Merle finished, more of his crackly laughter escaping his mouth.

T-Dog ran over in front of Merle, but leaving a few feet of distance between them. "Man, you're wasting bullets we ain't even got!" T-Dog chastised. "And you're bringin' even more of them down on our ass! Man, just chill!" Merle didn't seemed fazed or regretful of his decisions as he shrugged his shoulders.

"It's bad enough I've got this taco-bender on my ass all day," Merle asked, his cracking southern drawl echoing through the roof, "now I'm gonna take orders from you?" I cringed at hearing Merle's emphasis on the word you. I knew it was a challenge, and I knew T-Dog was going to take Merle's bait.

"I don't think so bro. That'll be the day."

Oh no.

T-Dog's demeanor changed from annoyance to anger in seconds, a fire burning in his dark eyes at the challenge. "'That'll be the day'? Man, you got something you want to tell me?!" "Hey, T-Dog man, just leave it. It ain't worth it." Morales tried to reason, but T-Dog scoffed, slapping the air between himself and Morales, as if shooing Morales words away. "No!"

At T-Dog's expense, Merle's grin widened, he knew he had T-Dog at the bait. I saw Rick's back muscles tensing, his jaw setting, but before he could think of intervening, I gently wrapped my hand around his fingers. Looking down at me, Rick raised one of his eyebrows at me, but I shook my head; Rick didn't need to be in this right now. From what I could see, T-Dog and Merle had bad blood between them and intervening wouldn't help anybody. After another second of staring at my dirty face, Rick nodded his head, his muscles relaxing, but I didn't let go just yet.

"You wanna know the day?" Merle asked, earning a "Yeah." From a fuming T-Dog. Slowly stalking to T-Dog with sure and confident steps, a predator ready for the right moment to pounce on their prey, Merle said, "I'll tell you the day, Mr. 'Yo'! It's the day I take orders from a nigger."

Predator catches the prey.

T-Dog launched at Merle, anger in his face, fists ready, but Merle was faster; he used the butt of the rifle to smash T-Dog's face. Everything happened all at once; Merle put the rifle down, punching T-Dog some more, hardly breaking a sweat, everyone rushing to the sidelines, shouting at the duo to stop. Rick turned to me. "Stay here. I don't want you getting hurt."

At his tone, I let go of his fingers and nodded my head. I felt Glenn stand next to me, us both watching the scene unfold. I saw Rick coming at Merle from behind. Then, suddenly, as T-Dog fell to the ground, Merle turned with quick precision and with one punch, he sent Rick to the ground.

Before I let my anger control me, before I even took a step, Glenn grabbed me, wrapping his arms around my torso, holding me back. "Take deep breaths and think; Merle has military experience, you wouldn't last. Just breathe." Despite my anger, I wasn't about to go out there, Andrea was one thing, I knew she wasn't going to shoot anyone, let alone me, but Merle was different. I knew he wasn't afraid to hit a girl, if they were a threat. And I saw Rick getting back up, and he looked livid.

I took deep breaths, pushing the anger away, and turned to Glenn, giving him a nod that showed that I was okay. Looking relieved, he slid his hands off of me, putting them on the straps of his bag. Then Merle pulled out a gun, pointing it.

Seeing Merle's anger, T-Dog's pure fear and hearing his whimpering, and with only Morales and Rick trying to, but not succeeding in, stop the fight, had me a bit frightened. Were there more people like this at their camp? If there are, I'm out. Out in the distance, through T-Dog's whimpering, everyone's pleas for Merle to let T-Dog live, through my drumming ears, I heard thunder rumbling.

After a moment of silence Merle spit in T-Dog's chest, rubbing it in his shirt. "All right!" Merle yelled as he stood up, but no one was out of the clear; Merle still had the gun out, ready to taste blood with its bullets. "We're gonna have ourselves a little powwow, huh?! Talk about whose in charge!"

I was the first to move, despite Rick's orders. I rushed to T-Dog's side and grabbed his arm, pulling him away from the dictating redneck. His blood-covered face looked surprised but thankful at my help. Then it was Glenn who pulled his other arm, Andrea and Jacqui pulling T-Dog to them as Morales rushed to us.

"I vote me! Anybody else? Democracy time ya'll." Merle yelled, his gun now pointed at our huddle. I sat on my knees, holding T-Dog up at my side as Jacqui took a rag from her pocket to wipe the blood from his face. "Show of hands. All in favor?" Merle commanded, holding his hand up as an example.

Morales, the glue that once held the group together before Rick and I arrived, was first to crack, raising his hand. He looked to us and nodded his head, a silent order to do what Merle says.

Next it was Glenn, a hopeless expression on his face, then Jacqui raised her hand (and her middle finger) at Merle. Everyone raised their hands. I refused. I was not about to let this tyrant walk over everyone.

Then Merle looked to me, and a part of me regretted not raising my hand. I hated the attention Why did you not raise your hand?! Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!

"Well, now. You're new; I would've remembered a young face like yours." I internally cringed at Merle and his huge grin and his gun now pointed at me, but on the outside, already in too deep to go back (and not able to speak), I sent him a withering glare. This tyrant was not going ruin what hope I have for new survivors, not after just running into them.

All Merle gave to retaliate my glare was a lecherous grin. "But, lil' sweetheart, there's majority rules. That means I'm the boss." Merle said, nodding his head slowly. "Yeah, Anybody else?"

"Yeah."

Merle turned around, only to have the butt of his own rifle smash his face. Merle fell to the ground, as Rick Grimes stood over him, like the victor and savior he was. My face broke out into an elated smile as Rick squatted, his knee pushing Merle's face to the ground, grabbed his wrist, and handcuffed him to a pipe.

Grabbing him by the shirt, Rick dragged Merle into a sitting position. Merle glared into Rick's steel eyes. "Who the hell are you?!" Merle spat. Rick, glaring into his eyes, replied "Officer Friendly."

Rick picked up Merle's gun, a cool, emotionless mask covering his anger as he took the clip out of the gun. This was taking-no-bullshit Rick. "Look here, Merle. Things are different now. There are no niggers anymore! No dumb-as-shit, inbred white-trash fools either. Only dark meat and white meat; there's us and the dead. We survive this by pulling together, not apart."

"Screw you, man." Was all Merle said. The hit must've been hard because he seemed dazed. Rick's mask began cracking, revealing his irritation at the redneck's thick skull. "I can see you make a habit of missing the point." Rick stated. "Yeah, well screw you twice." Merle replied.

"Ought to be polite to a man with a gun." Rick spat Merle's same words in his face, digging the barrel of Merle's own gun into his forehead. "Only common sense."

"You wouldn't." Merle muttered. "You're a cop." Rick shook his head. "All I am anymore," Rick started, staring into Merle's eyes with fire of determination in his sky blue eyes, "Is a man looking for his wife and son. Anybody that gets in the way of that is gonna lose. I'll give you a moment to think about that."

Everything was silent as the effect of Rick's words sunk in, the emotion in his words tingle down their spines. I stared at Rick, as he searched Merle's pockets, feeling the determination in finding his family feud my determination in surviving, in trying to find the cure: even if it will take years.

Rick pulled out a white stick, it looked like a handmade cigarette, but I knew what it was. Rick tilted Merle's head back slightly then scoffed. "Got some on your nose there." Rick said, flicking Merle's nose for effect as he stood.

What are you gonna do? Arrest me?" Merle scoffed, laughing until Rick threw the drugs over the ledge, to the hungry walkers below. Merle spat vulgar obscenities at Rick, but he paid no heed. He walked over to the tall ledge of the roof and just stared out.

Before I realized what I was doing, I made sure T-Dog was in good hands with Jacqui before walking over, standing next to Rick. He lied his head in his hands, rubbing his forehead as if willing away a headache. His nerves must've been shot, I could practically feel the weight trapped on his shoulders. He missed his family, I understood that. And I would be there for him every step of the way.

I placed my hand on his back and rubbed his back. He turned his head, blue eyes meeting my green ones, and he gave me a small half-hearted smile. "Thank you," Rick said, "for being here for me." I saw his eyes shift to the group then back to my green eyes.

"I feel I can trust these people; except for Merle. If he tries to bother you again, tell me- or, you know, point at him. I'll know what you mean." I smiled at Rick, and he laughed; he was such a great friend.

Morales walked over. "You're not Atlanta P.D." The Hispanic stated as he looked at Rick. "Where you two from?" "We're from up the road a ways." Rick replied.

"Well, Officer Friendly," Morales dark eyes met mine, and he gave me a small smile. "Officer Friendly's sidekick. Welcome to the big city."

Author's Note: HEY EVERYONE! I hope everyone likes this next chapter! I have to stop writing because it's almost 12 in the morning and it's a school night. I like to thank the following people for supporting the story so far:

*speedy964

*This Is My Own Crazy Reality

*tmntwolf-lover5

*miaandB

*kyzhart

*filmgrl3

*BlackBloodAlchemist

You all are truly awesome! As cheesy as it sounds, lots of love and lots of walkers.

A.H.P


	7. Chapter 6

**Disclaimer**: I am not Robert Kirkman; I **DO NOT** own the Walking Dead in anyway whatsoever. All I have is my OC's and this plot of the story. Hope you enjoy.

Chapter 6- Reconcile

"How's the signal?" Morales asked T-Dog, who sat on the floor of the roof, fiddling with his C.B Radio, but only the static was heard. "Like Dixon's brain: weak." T-Dog replied, earning the middle finger from a handcuffed Merle.

"Keep trying." Morales said, scratching his thick, black stubble.

As everyone discussed on how to escape the department store alive, I strolled over to Glenn, who sat farther from the others, fiddling with his C.B radio, a forlorn expression on his face.

When he noticed me approaching, he gave me a fake smile. I knew something was wrong with him, I saw his pain in his dark eyes, signs that he was being taken over by doubt. Times like these were reasons why I had the ability to speak, but I had to improvise.

I held the palm of my right hand out, facing the sky, using my other hand to make it look like I was writing with a pencil. I saw the wheels turning in Glenn's mind at what I wanted, then he understood. "Pen and paper?" He asked.

I nodded my head and Glenn immediately took his large green backpack into his lap, unzipped it, and began rifling through his items. "Let's see if I have anything. I don't know any sign language; kinda wish I did now." Then he sighed as his shoulders slumped, momentarily stopping his search as he looked into my eyes; his brown eyes, usually holding a certain twinkle in them, especially when his sarcastic side appeared, were dull and lifeless. The eyes of a hopeless man; it was unnerving how much sadness dwelled in his eyes.

"Reality is there's lots of things I wished I did before shit hit the fan. Heck, I even wish to talk to my mom and dad; before these geeks returned from the dead, I wanted nothing to do with them. Always criticizing me, believed I would never apply myself to anything because I was swimming in debt and worked as a pizza delivery boy. Look at me now . . . Wanting to talk to them to know how they were, if they're alive . . . I would take it all back if everything could go back to normal . . ." His voice trailed off, his dark eyes staring off at something behind me. He looked so lost, guilty, empty.

I stood there, stunned he would reveal these personal confessions to me so easily. A part of me wanted to leave him to his thoughts, felt as if I was intruding into something that wasn't for me to hear, but I knew he needed a friend (if I am considered his friend) right now. I wrapped my arms around him. Even before the apocalypse, I was a hugger; it was how I gave comfort and affection to someone, how I showed gratitude, another method to speak to someone besides the use of a pen and piece of paper.

Glenn let his head fall on my shoulder, accepting the comfort I gave. After a moment of silence, I heard him laugh and he pulled his head back. A real smile appeared on his face. "You smell." He said, and I couldn't help but laugh and nodded my head. It was quiet between us for a moment before Glenn's eyes widened. "Oh, yeah."

Searching his bag for another moment, he pulled out a small, pink sticky notepad and a black pen, and handed them to me. I raised an eyebrow at Glenn when I saw the color choice. "What? Guys can like pink too." Glenn defended and I held back my smirk.

"Hey Glenn."

Glenn and I turned to face Morales. "Check the alley to see if there're any manhole covers." Glenn stood and went to check the alley. After a moment, he returned, and shook his head. "No. They must be all out on the street where the gates are."

"Maybe not," Jacqui piped in as she stood away from the ledge of the roof. "Old buildings like this built in the '20s- big structures often had drainage tunnels into the sewers in case of flooding down in the subbasements." "How do you know that?" Glenn asked, surprised.

"It's my job- was. I worked in the city zoning office."

Rick, Andrea, Morales, Jacqui, and Glenn all went down to the basement, where the entrance to the sewers were. I followed them down until I stopped to look around at everything in the department store; endless amounts of clothes still on their hooks, dazzling jewelry in the glass cases, perfumes and lotions of all scents, and more.

There were empty shelves, where I assume the group took all the over-the-counter medicines and imperishable foods they could before Rick and I arrived, but I didn't give much thought to them.

I walked over to a rack holding shirts, and for a minute, I just touched the soft, fresh fabric. For weeks, the only clothes I have were the ones on my back; they're now covered in stains (even the stains had stains), tears and holes, and a strong, unimaginably disgusting smell of Walker blood and sweat that can't be washed out. Even I gagged at my own stench sometimes.

Just the sight of the clothes seemed to be a dream, as if I was walking on Cloud 9. I saw a dark red button-up shirt; it was loose and long, the end would probably reach to the top of my thighs, with sleeves that would reach to the tips of my fingers. I held it up to my body and, for a second, I felt as if everything was normal; I was shopping with my mother for clothes before school would start. I would be a sophomore this year.

"Thats a pretty shirt."

I turned around, expecting my mother; her light blonde hair cascading to her lower back, forest green eyes, and with one arm, but, with disappointment, I only saw Andrea; blonde hair in a ponytail, cerulean blue eyes, and both arms.

I gave her a small smile as she stepped forward, looking at the shirt more closely. "What's best about button-ups is all the styles you can wear it." She emphasized her point when pointing to her shirt: a dark blue button-up shirt with tiny flowers for the design, with only the top three buttons off, revealing her white undershirt.

I nodded my head in understanding. I liked the button-up shirts too. Andrea stared at me for another moment, before sighing. "I'm sorry about what happened earlier, back at the storage room. I was just stressed out about this run, about keeping everyone safe, the apocalypse- everything. All I want to do now is go back to the camp and see my sister, Amy." Andrea explained. Then she began sifting through the shirts; I followed suit, looking for ones I wanted.

"I just sort of took all my frustration and anger out on you and Rick. I'll say, though, not all of my frustration was unjustified; I mean we are in this mess because of you two, I just overreacted. I still can't believed I pulled a gun out on you, a kid. Ate me up inside- what if I pulled the trigger?" I narrowed my eyes at her, not only did I know she wasn't going to shoot, but I pulled my gun out on her also. Andrea laughed at my dead panned expression, then pulled out different shirts: button-ups, tight-fitted, loose, and of colors that were mainly red, black, green, and white.

"I think these will look good on you." Andrea stated, holding each shirt up to my body for examination, seeing if they will fit. I saw she picked shirts that were really cute. Then her blue eyes met mine. "So, forgiven?" I nodded my head, giving her a smile. She smiled as well. Andrea grabbed a large black backpack, putting all the shirts inside.

"I'm assuming that, since you didn't carry a bag on you, that you, or your dad, don't have any clothes." I shook my head. I didn't bother correcting her that Rick wasn't my dad just yet. "Come on." Was all Andrea said as she took me to each clothing rack, grabbing more shirts and a few pairs of pants and shorts, throwing in underwear, socks, and bras (even though, being 15, my breasts weren't as well developed). Then it was a pair of black converse in the bag and new pair of brown combat boots on my feet (after Andrea teased me about having tape wrapped around my old ones to hold my ripped soles to my feet).

She carried another bag that held all the clothes we picked for Rick, who was intently watching the walkers as they scratched and tried clawing their way inside.

Then Andrea took me to the personal hygiene, we grabbed some toothpaste, a couple of tooth brushes, deodorant, and all the perfume and lotion that smelled like vanilla and coconuts. As Andrea found male hygienic items, I passed by a small portable mirror on one of the shelves, I stopped, backtracked, and stared at the horror looking back at me.

My pale face was covered in dirt and black blood, my black hair was greasy and ratty, a couple of leaves and sticks trapped in their tresses; I wouldn't have been surprised if a rat crawled out and perched itself on my arm. I heard Andrea laughed she strolled over, her face reflecting from behind me. I suddenly felt self conscious by Andrea's presence.

Andrea was so pretty. She had the perfect tan, unblemished, unscarred skin, untangled blonde hair, and the voluptuous body where she had curves in all the right places. I was pale, in a constant battle against black heads, held a scar running from my hairline to my right eyebrow, and a pear-shaped body.

I felt fingers through my hair and I noticed that, under my state of self-loathing, Andrea was picking all the debris from my hair. Then she grabbed a brush, and began running it through my hair, apologizing when she hit a tangle. "Your hair is so pretty." Andrea said when she was halfway done. I noticed the stark contrast between my hair when it was brushed. Before my mother lost her arm in the car accident, she always played with my hair; whether just running her fingers through them or just put it in different styles. I welcomed Andrea's attention, remembering all the moments my mother and I had together.

Andrea finished with my hair, all brushed and made into a French braid, then she grabbed a bottle of pink liquid and a rag from her pocket. "This cleanses pores and gets dirt off a person's face." She explained when she began cleaning my face.

"You know," Andrea began, wiping my cheeks as she talked. "We've met probably an hour ago, and no one has heard you say a word. What's your name?" I quickly pulled out Glenn's pad of notes and pen, scrawling my reply.

_"Autumn."_

Andrea gave me a slight quizzical look and stopped for a moment. "Autumn; that's a name you don't hear every day." She said. I tried writing the answer as fast as I could.

_"I was born mute."_

Seeing my answer, her look was one filled with pity. "That must be horrible, especially this time when your voice is needed most." Andrea wiped at the dirt from my forehead and I could tell she was staring at my scar.

_"True. But actions speak louder than words."_

Andrea nodded her head when reading my answer. "This is true as well." She said as she wiped the dirt from my chin and ears. Andrea stood back. "All clean." She said with a smile. I turned back around and I couldn't believe my eyes.

I looked and felt cleaner than I ever had before. My light skin was free from dirt my hair and black bangs, the hair I inherited from my father, were pulled back, revealing my forest green eyes, the same eyes as my mother. I turned around to a smiling Andrea as she held me a clean pair of clothes. Then she left, giving me privacy to change.

I finished changing into the black button-up over a dark red tank top, dark jeans, and the black converse.

I emerged from the aisle and saw Andrea and Rick talking, looking at the jewelry. They were smiling at each other, talking about something I couldn't hear. As I approached I heard a sound that had my blood run cold.

**SMASH!**

The outer, thicker glass couldn't handle the pressure the walkers gave, breaking into millions of pieces under their feet. Soon, they began piling inside until they began trying to smash through our last defenses, the inner glass doors.

I had mine and Rick's backpack in my hands as I began running over to Rick. "Autumn!" Rick shouted, looking for me. He had Merle's gun in his hands, pointed at the glass in case walkers broke through. He turned his head when he heard my feet and I saw the relief wash over him. Morales, Jacqui, and Glenn were running from the basement, all out of breath.

"What did you find down there?" Rick asked Morales. "Not a way out." The Hispanic replied, staring at walkers attempting to break in. "We need to find a way . . ." Andrea said, as everyone, including me, began to tense at the walkers trying to enter.

"And soon."

**_Author's Note: Hello, everyone! I hope everyone liked it. I'm so excited at how the story is taking off and I plan to make this into a series. And I can't wait for the Walking Dead to show again in February; I'll have something to do on Sunday! I like to thank the new following people that has favorited/followed the story:_**

**_* Jasperluva15_**

**_* Vongola Primo12_**

**_You guys are awesome as well as the other users supporting the story. As always, lots of love and lots of walkers._**

**_A.H.P_**


	8. Chapter 7

**Disclaimer**: I am not Robert Kirkman; I **DO NOT** own the Walking Dead in anyway whatsoever. All I have is my OC's and this plot of the story. Hope you enjoy.

**_Author's Note- Autumn's thoughts are italics but her writing on paper or sign language is italics AND underline._**

Chapter 7- Russian Roulette

Thunder trembled in the sky as everyone was back on the roof. I sat next to T-Dog, who was slowly, yet surely, recovering from the fight. We both hid in the amount of shade given by the roof's ledge, blocking the bright sun burning our skin as the others looked below, talking about a plan of escape from the department store death trap.

Honestly, I wasn't sure if all of us were going to make it out of this obstacle alive. Those walkers literally at the doorstep want in, and won't stop until they find us. This world converted into a twisted game of Cat-and-Mouse mixed with Russian Roulette, and, right now especially, we're the trapped mice.

Despite our circumstances, and I having no clue on what to do, I stayed positive, or kept trying to anyway. Trying's better than not trying, right?

"That construction site," Rick said, pointing down at said place, his other hand holding the binoculars to his eyes. "Those trucks-they always keep keys on hand." Rick handed the binoculars to Morales, who shook his head. "You'll never make it past the walkers." Morales countered.

Then Rick turned to Glenn. "You got Autumn and I out of that tank." Glenn sighed. "Yeah, but they were feeding. They were distracted." I saw the wheels begin to turn in the former deputy's mind.

"Can we distract them again?" Rick asked. I saw his bright blue eyes grow dark and hard with each second. He seemed fine to others, but I see the inner battle through those eyes. A struggle for figuring out a solution. I could see this strong man struggling with the immense, growing weight and pressure of making difficult decisions on his shoulders.

Don't get me wrong, there have been a few options thrown out that we could go by right now. The problem was figuring out the solution that'll have everyone living the next day. This is a point where Russian Roulette comes in to play, and it seems that everyone had made Rick the one to make the decisions and face the consequences.

"Right. Listen to him, he's onto something." It took me a moment to remember the source of that croaky voice belonged to Merle. He's been pretty quiet at his spot, handcuffed to the building. Looking at Merle, who's odd, dark blue eyes shifting between Rick and Glenn, I noticed he's looking better. Yeah, he has a lobster-red sunburn, but his eyes weren't bloodshot anymore and, overall, he looked calmer than before. "A diversion; like on 'Hogan's Heroes.'" Merle finished.

"God, give it a rest." Jacqui ordered. She seemed extremely annoyed by Merle's input into the conversation and here I am, wondering what 'Hogan's Heroes' was. "They're drawn by sound, right?" Rick asked. "Right," Glenn confirmed. "Like dogs. They hear a sound, they come." "What else?" Rick asked. "Aside from they hear you, they see you, smell you, and if they catch you, eat you." Morales answered.

_Smell?_

"They can tell us by smell?" Rick asked. "Can't you?" Andrea countered. "They smell dead, we don't. It's pretty distinct."

If I had to choose between watching the group and Rick slashing a dead Walker to pieces and mush like a killing psychopath for a plan they didn't talk about on the roof or stay and deal with a druggie redneck that is called Merle, I'd, honestly, pick staying with Merle. Rick wasn't keen on the idea that I should stay, but only sighed and said to get someone if Merle turned into a bother.

If I was facing a walker and only had my knife with me, I could kill it without a problem. However, I can't, even after being alone for who-knows-how-long, stand the sight of a dead (actually dead) body lying on the ground. I've said it once before and I'll say it again: there are extremely frightening, grotesque sights on the road, especially when your alone.

I've seen, and done, many things on that road, but the most heart-wrenching, stomach churning sight of what I ever had done was the morning after I buried my mother; took all evening to bury her, last night, and the person-sized grave wasn't very deep, but I hope this would, somehow, bring her and I peace and closure. I hope it worked for my mother.

I remembered that morning, the dark sky evolving into a light blue color, dew clinging onto the grass, and the air cool and nice against my skin. But my mother's death did something in my head. When I buried her, I felt a deep, empty hole in my chest, as if a walker pushed its hand through my chest and ripped my heart out. I didn't cry, I didn't throw something, I didn't feel anger or sadness. I only felt numb and empty. At the time, her last words never ran through my head, seemed as if I had no real destination and no purpose. I felt lost, hopeless . . .

_I felt like the walking dead._

I finally noticed the change in me when I saw a dead Walker. A boy, maybe 5 years younger than me, with light blood hair matted in black blood, extremely pale skin, I could see black veins underneath. His skin and muscle in his right arm was gone, leaving a bloody mess of blood revealing his bones in his arm. His clothes were stained, his pants ripped, and his shoes gone.

When looking into that thing's eyes, those yellow-white dead eyes meeting my green ones, every bottled-up emotion rushed out of me in an instant, and then . . . They were gone.

My emotions were gone, my brain seemed to tune out every sound, my focus solely on this monster. An odd ringing sound reverberated in my ears. I felt no fear when the thing stumbled towards me, no anger as I pulled out my knife, no pity as I grabbed the thing by its hair, and smashed its face into the ground. Over and over and over, I kept stabbing it as it's skull and brains molded into mush, it's flailing arms stopped reaching for me, it's inhuman growls cease. It was odd; I felt no emotion yet it felt . . . Good. Yes, it felt good stabbing the monster, the adrenaline, the blood rushing through my veins, it all felt so exhilarating, as if I could never stop . . .

I stopped when I saw its name in its jacket.

_Charlie._

I didn't know this boy, what his life was like, what school or grade he was in, if his parents were kind, or if he had a pet. Charlie was once just a young, regular person, just like me, until his life was taken away, turning into a monster.

Killing Charlie had me realize that you don't need a bite to turn into a monster.

"Hey, Spitfire."

I tensed up at the intrusion breaking me from my thoughts and looked up at Merle, who had a wide grin plastered on his face. "Penny for your thoughts? I've got nothin' better to do," He lifted his hand, the one with the handcuff constricting his wrist. "Since your daddy handcuffed me to the damn roof."

I took a second to observe Merle again; he didn't seem angry (at me anyway) or high on drugs anymore, and I felt myself relax a little bit. What's he going to do anyway? He can't reach me.

With that thought in mind, I pulled out Glenn's notepad and pen, and wrote my answer before showing it to Merle.

_"Just recalling some memories. And Rick isn't my daddy."_

"Why the hell are you writing this?" Merle asked after reading my answer, his brows furrowed. I pulled the old note (the note that had my name and said that I was mute) out of my pocket. Merle took the note with his free hand and read it over.

Then he chuckled.

He put the note down, and readjusted his sitting position to get more comfortable. With his free hand, he touched the side of his forehead, then brought it down and out, his thumb and pinkie out. With the same hand, he took his thumb under his chin, and swiped it out, with his thumb up, and then pointed at me. With his same finger, he pointed to his mouth and then brought his hand out again, turning it into a fist before opening it enough to make an 'O' shape.

_"Why didn't you say so?"_

Saying I was surprised was a small understatement and not the only emotion I felt. I was astonished. Astonished and happy. Someone (doesn't matter if it was Merle) knew sign language!

_"When did you know sign?"_

That was how a friendly conversation began between me and Merle Dixon. He talked while I did sign; before he was discharged from the army, one of his old drinking (and drug) buddies was deaf, and the his linguistic translator taught Merle.

_"Why were you discharged?"_

A big smile, not a grin, broke out on the redneck's face. "The sergeant was a prick: thought that because he was in high ranks that I have to be his lil' lap dog. So I put that son-of-a-bitch in his place; punched out his front teeth. Got dishonorably discharged. And 16 months in the stockade."

I managed to hold back from laughing (a silent laugh) but I couldn't hold back the little snort, to which I earned a balled-up, pink piece of paper thrown at me. Merle thought it was just so hilarious when the paper hit me in the forehead. When Merle continued to laugh that coarse, gravely laugh he had, I couldn't help but smile.

It seemed as if nothing bad was happening around us, no corpses, no death, as if it was just a normal day talking, or signing, to someone. It felt nice.

Then Merle began talking about his brother. "I have a little brother back at the camp, lil' Darlina. He's probably still huntin' or whatever-the-hell he does when I'm not around. I practically raised that boy, myself. Can't survive out here without me." I was a bit skeptical about that; surely someone who knew how to hunt could take care of themselves, but it was then I knew that talking about family in general was a touchy subject for Merle. I saw repressed anger begin to show in his dark blue eyes. His family must've been bad. I didn't want our conversation to end, not like this

_"I have a brother."_

Merle stopped stewing over his past or whatever he was thinking that made him angry. The anger was still there, but he seemed curious. So I continued.

_"My older brother. He preferred staying inside to play video games. He was also protective."_ "Is he dead?" Merle asked. I shrugged my shoulders. _"Part of me hopes so; he did a very terrible thing to me and my mom, but I still worry about him; where is he, what is he doing, is he alive, is he dead. Just knowing if he was okay, or not, would make me feel better."_

Merle nods his head, and I try to repress my feelings about my brother. All the anger, sadness, curiosity. Then Merle asked, "Puss. Probably took the chance to save his skin, didn't he?" I took a breath before nodding my head. "If I was you, I wouldn't give two shits about that deserter."

_Deserter._

The door to the roof opened. Merle and I turned to see Morales, Andrea, Jacqui, and T-Dog running to the ledge of the roof. "Hey, what's happening, man?" Merle asked; dread washed over me when Glenn and Rick weren't with them.

_Where are they?_

"T-Dog, try that C.B." Morales ordered, ignoring Merle. Realization struck when I put two-and-two together; I was angry. I stood up and looked over. I couldn't see much, but I soon caught the sight of Rick and Glenn walking among them, covered in Walker guts.

I was angry that Rick and Glenn were out there, it's extremely dangerous and risky. We could've come up with another plan, couldn't we? I curled my hands into fists and looking down at them, they were shaking. My anger turned into fear and growing panic. I felt like my emotions were constricting me, choking me. I tried taking deep breaths. _They'll make it out, we'll all get out of here, it'll be okay, calm down_-

A cold hand rested on my shoulder. I jumped from the cool contact against my burning skin and turned to look at Jacqui and her supportive smile. "Your daddy is a strong one, he'll make it out and save us. Don't you worry." I shouldn't have let her words calm me so quickly, but they somehow did. I gave her a half-hearted smile in return. "You also cleaned up nicely." She remarked at my cleaner appearances, causing me to blush.

The large clap of thunder made me look up at the dark grey clouds above. A wash of dread came over, I felt sick to my stomach. "I hope that Walker guts won't wash off." I had to look away from the sky when I felt the first drop of rain hit my cheek.

"That asshole is out on the street with the handcuff keys?" Merle asked. His response was T-Dog pulling a small key, the length of my fingertip, out of his pocket. He waved it at Merle's angry face yet out of the redneck's reach, like waving food in front of a starving man. I counted this as T-Dog's retaliation against Merle.

I looked back down at Rick and Glenn. I could barely see them, but I recognized that red and yellow hat on Glenn's head. They were almost there. But that one drop of rain brought friends.

A few began to splatter on my head but slowly more and more rain came. I, and everyone else, became drenched. The freezing drops seeped the warmth from my body, causing me to shiver, but I only cared about Rick and Glenn at the moment, who I can't see anymore.

But I could see all the walkers jogging, stumbling, some even dragging themselves, to the direction Rick and Glenn went to, and not seeing the two made me panic even more.

The large looming rain cloud began to turn into smaller wisps, letting streams of sunlight through. The rain stopped and I could see and hear more clearly . . .

"They're leaving us."

I turned to Andrea, who said those bitter words, her face said anger but her cerulean eyes screamed fear. Morales took the binoculars off his face, his face full of disbelief as he rubbed his beard.

"What? What?" Merle asked. I turned to him and spoke in sign.

_"Andrea said Rick and Glenn are leaving."_

Merle's expression was full of rage. Merle's profanities, Andreas pleas for Rick and Glenn to come back I couldn't hear them. All I heard and felt was my mending heart beginning to break into a million pieces again. This cannot be happening. This was my brother all over again! _"No, Rick wouldn't leave."_ I thought. _"He wouldn't leave this group, leave me . . . Right?"_ Tears pricked my eyes, my vision blurred, but I tried wiping theme away.

"No, no, no, sweetie." I felt cool arms wrap around me, a hand rubbing my head. I sniffles as I looked at Jacqui. She and I were, overall, the same height. Jacqui gave me a smile, despite the fear and doubt in her chocolate eyes. "Don't you start crying those green eyes out." She said. "We'll find another way if they don't come back; we'll be okay." Just having Jacqui trying to comfort me made me feel better, and, for her, I gave her a real smile and a nod as I wiped the stray tears with the back of my hand.

Jacqui let go of me as T-Dog's C.B Radio crackled to life. What first came out of it was a loud beeping siren, then a voice spoke. "Those roll-up doors at the front of the store facing the street- meet us there and be ready." Glenn's voice and the siren blared before cutting off, going back to static.

Everyone ran in a panic to grab their bags, all voices going over each other's as they began sprinting to the doors. I was elated. Rick didn't leave! I had my new pack strapped on my back, Rick's in my hand, until I heard Merle's voice among the screaming. "Hey, you can't leave me here! I'm not foolin', man!"

But everyone ignored him. Morales, Jacqui, Andrea; they already made it to the door and didn't look back, T-Dog beginning to go to the door. I stood in my place.

_How?_

I understand that Merle is the type of person to cause problems, but this was frightening to see them leave like that and not try to help. It made me question if they're leaving Merle because he's . . . Merle? Or would they do this to anybody in their group, at their camp for survival? Was that how their group was made; every man for themselves? It made me sick. That wasn't right, no matter how problematic a person may be; they're still human. Our war is against the dead and we need to work together to see the end. I had to get Merle out of here. He can't die like this. Then I saw the bag of tools. And the hacksaw.

I sprinted to the bag. When I grabbed it and came back to the redneck, who was pleading to T-Dog, I grabbed the saw. I tried cutting through, getting angrier as the saw didn't make a cut. I felt Merle grab me, a bit too tightly on my arm, as I continued trying to cut through, as if I was going to disappear and leave him here. We need the key. T-Dog has it.

I looked up at T-Dog, who was looking from the door to Merle, his face full of fear and panic. Then his dark, wild eyes met mine. Without speech, I tried pleading to him, get him to help Merle out of the cuffs. To help me. Irritation crossed T-Dog's. He groaned out "You've got to be kidding." And began running towards Merle and I.

I saw relief on Merle's face as T-Dog came closer. Until T-Dog tripped and fell. It was as if time slowed down as no one was able to catch the key, falling into the mouth of a pipe. It clanged and clattered down the seemingly endless pipe, as if swallowed by the building itself.

"You son-of-a-bitch! You did that on purpose!" Merle accused at T-Dog, who looked so panicked and frightened. "I didn't mean to!" T-Dog said, before he pick up the bags he dropped. I dropped the hacksaw as I felt a large hand grab me by my elbow.

"We gotta go now!" T-Dog said. But it was a tug of war on me; T-Dog v.s Merle. "No! T-Dog! Autumn! You can't leave! Help me!" Merle screamed, his grip vice-like on my right arm as T-Dog gripped my other arm, screaming "Let go!" at the desperate redneck. I knew the situation was dire when Merle used my real name and my heart felt heavy at the realization that I can't help him.

Merle's grip slipped from my arm from the rain on my skin, like slippery oil, and I fell on T-Dog. He caught me in his large arms as I held Rick's bag. T-Dog pulled me to the door, and I looked back at Merle one last time. He was screaming profanities, pleading for help, looking at my face. My heart hurt seeing tears well up in the tough redneck's eyes. I don't like leaving people behind. Seeing someone that needed help, but I couldn't do anything about it.

Like I said, not only have I seen, but I have done many bad things on the road to Atlanta.

The door closed as I heard glass starting to break, the group's voices loud and overlapping. T-Dog let go of me. "Go! I'll catch up!" He said as he grabbed a chain and padlock. I sprinted down the steps, tears welling my eyes as my mind kept repeating Merle's pleas for help, as if punishing me for leaving someone behind like that. It was inhuman. I felt like a monster.

I stumbled on the last step and fell. I used my arms to protect my face, but pain erupted in my elbows traveling through my arms and my knees as I skidded to a stop. I ignored the pain, the blood beginning to seep from new wounds on my elbows and knees and picked up Rick's bag. I stood up again and sprinted the rest of the way. I found the room where Andrea, Morales, and Jacqui were holed up.

A few seconds later, T-Dog arrived, followed by a series of bangs on the metal door.

**BANG! BANG! BANG!**

"They're here!" T-Dog said as everyone pulled at the chains to open the door. There was Rick on the other side and our getaway vehicle. I automatically began throwing all their bags into the Ferneco truck, as fast as I could as the others continued pulling the door open.

Rick rushed to the front driver seat as everyone through themselves into the truck. I was the last, being pulled in by T-Dog as the first wave of walkers arrived. Then Morales closed the truck door down as Rick stepped on the gas, lurching the truck forward. I was then pulled in by Andrea, who put me in between Jacqui and herself.

After a few minutes of speed and jerky, jostling turns, Rick slowed down a little bit. Andrea's grip loosened on my arms. Everything was quiet and no one dared breaking the silence. Everything that has happened to me began to process, it overwhelmed me and brought tears to my eyes again.

Not only leaving Merle on the roof, but all of the bad memories and emotions I've repressed ever since my mother died, ever since my brother left mom and I to die, ever since being alone, all resurfacing like an unexpected storm, the rain being my tears as the fell from my eyes.

The world was such a dark and frightening place. It changes everything you've once known, even yourself, your morals, you beliefs. I'm constantly at a war with myself, wanting to live and keep my mother's dying promise . . . yet wanting to die and run away from this frightening stranger, this monster, I've turned into. The tears would not stop.

I barely processed Andrea pulling me into her warm embrace, her hand rubbing my back as I cried into her shoulder. A part of me wanted, needed, Rick over here next to me. Ever since my mom, dad, and brother were ripped away from me, Rick became my rock, whether he knew or not. His blue eyes, his presence, kept me sane and hoping.

"I dropped the damn key." T-Dog said, breaking the ominous silence lurking between everyone. I sniffles as I looked at T-Dog. His face was so forlorn and guilty. "Where's Glenn?" Andrea asked.

Answering her question was a siren that grew louder. A red, sleek car sped by, and an exhilarated Glenn gripped the wheel as he drove ahead of us. The thought of Glenn happy made me feel a bit better. At least someone is having fun.

Soon, my tears ceased. I leaned my head off Andrea's shoulder and leaned on the wall of the truck as I closed my eyes, only seeing flashing pictures of undead walking, my father pleading to kill him as he held his bit bleeding arm, my mother with a bloody bite mark embedded in her neck, Charlie, Merle chained to the roof over and over and over like a repeating, never-ending film. Then I felt Andrea move away, taking her warmth.

I opened my eyes as Morales reached over and took the wheel. It was awkward seeing Morales situate himself into the drivers seat, but Rick moved to the back. His sky blue eyes, full of relief and concern, met my green ones, and I felt myself smiling as he sat himself in Andrea's place. Andrea went and sat in the passenger seat.

I was then wrapped in Rick's arms and I felt warmth, comfort, and safety. I lied my head on his shoulder as he rested his chin on the top of my head. His hand, the one on my back, played with my braid. No words were said, but words weren't needed. Rick was my rock, the one who kept me sane among the world of the dead roaming the Earth. What was better was that he accepted me, and allowed me to be his friend. Rick was a true friend indeed.

I couldn't stop the small smile fixated on my face as I closed my eyes. A stray happy tear streamed down my face as I drifted to sleep. It was either a blessing or Rick's presence that brought no nightmares to haunt my dreams.

**_Author's Note: DONE! Phew, took forever, especially writing Merle. He was so difficult to write without making him OOC so if people believe Merle was OOC, I apologize. I also apologize for not posting in a while, there will be no excuse for keeping the people waiting. I will try to post more quickly as I can, and I hope you bear with me :) By the way, if anyone knows sign language or knows how to incorporate sign language into stories, could you help me? I feel like the sign language bit I wrote was absolutely horrible! If anyone has advice about it, it would be EXTREMELY helpful and I would be very thankful._**

**_I would like to introduce my new fellow friends who followed and/or favorited the fanfic:_**

**_*Thrill-Pair-All-The-Way_**

**_*gagesmith450_**

**_*AmandaaFavilla_**

**_*Cerulean F. Revelle_**

_**Warm welcome to all of you! As always, lots of love and lots of walkers!**_

_**A.H.P**_


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